#and this stupid cue ball is the perfect target

[doctor-vertigo]

Simping for this guy again [bangs my fist against the desk and starts sobbing uncontrollably]

The second image is a reference to this iconic image, I’m sure people have already drawn this with him and better but yk

[projectharbringercharacterask1]

In-depth dive into...The "Damoiseau"/ Tyr

How the name came about --

"Also fun little trivia on why Dam goes by Tyr and Odin interchangeably: "Tyr is the Norse god of war. While Tyr was not worshipped as frequently as other Norse gods, such as Odin or Thor, he was well respected. Some believe that Tyr was commonly worshiped in the ancient period but was gradually supplanted by other gods." -Google /Finch (From my chat with firenation)

"And also that when Tyr switched efforts from war to peace, Odin didn't like that and assumes his identity whenever it suited him. --Again, according to Google." -Finch

So I think this really suits Soren as his culture & faction is all about war. And thus the name Tyr -The god of war. And then he also took on the name of Odin in reference to the All-father being one-eyed (And Soren/Dam keep one eye close or both closed), having hung from the word tree as symbolic death & sacrifice (Which in Soren's case is both symbolic and kind of literal in a way...) to gain the knowledge, wisdom. Omnipotent and all-seeing, all-knowing And Soren is that/became that.

"In Norse mythology, Gungnir is the spear of the god Odin. It is known for always hitting the target of the attacker regardless of the attacker's skill." -Google/wiki"

Yep, that one. So this makes me think that Odin does use spears. Otherwise why bother making one for the hell of it?

"And Huginn (memory) and Munin (thought) - Odin's crows, for the Damoiseau could be his eyes. The ones that he sometimes makes visible to scare off.

And his prophetic abilities through Pirin--Pirin's grandpa/grandma was of the Moirai: A bloodline of prophets, oracles and seers, divinators who have lost their physical sight one way or another. And in place of the physical sight sacrificed or lost-- They have a spiritual and or future foresight.

A quote from my Unveil- "Blind Moirai/ "Blind-eye weavers" - Known for being blind, having lost their sight either at birth or getting their eyes damaged severely, resulting in gaining or manifesting their prophetic ability. Appearance vary for each individual, some look more humanoid, some less and others go full bat. Seers, divinators, oracles, prophets, shamans, spiritual communicators. 3rd dynasty."

And then Odin acts gentle towards them (Raptor), like an older brother/Mather. Likely Pirin shining through, his songs soothing lullabies that are Orphic in nature.

Or randomly gives a prophecy/semi-prophecy that isn't negative. ..Or at least is a warning of something incoming." -Finch.

"..Bold of you Soren is clueless. He already got one very suicidal mf as a literal part of him.

It's not new to him.

So Tyr/Odin will definitely catch/tell the signs the second he GLANCES at Raptor." -Finch

Odin's power level/nature

"Until he sees Raptor trying to jump as many times off a cliff in attempts to overexhaust their regeneration abilities and get themselves killed.

Because when their abilities are overused, they stop working.

Which unfortunately gives Raptor a perfect attempt to get themselves killed successfully." -V/firenation

"Cue threads sturdier than titanium catching/seizing Raptor. Like a sort of "cocoon" of colorful threads, keeping them from doing something stupid. They'd still exhaust themselves... but from thrashing and trying to break off.

Or him deliberately annoying them with those threads to make them get busy attacking and snapping at the chords, to think about trying.

Same result, exhaustion. ...And also kind of amusement to him. Careful not to kill the bird on accident." -Finch

"Raptor would try to bite through the chords like a piranha.

And/Or they'll curse him out until they get exhausted and just curl up in a ball." -Fire "Better than pulling off the attempts in Odin's book."

---

"I forgot to add on Raptor's part something. They'll first make those sounds. Then Pyro will come out." -Fire

"Guess we'll be seeing Pyro fight Odin... and most likely get/kept restrained or annoyed by the threads." -Finch

"And all of a sudden, things will turn from ' Life is Strange ' to ' Resident Evil 8/Slender The Arrival ' vibes. Because Pyro was created by Zalgo in Raptor's mind, it'll mean that Zalgo himself will get informed about the situation with the Holder of his kaiju gemstone.

... And... Zalgo is...um..." -Fire

"Also. How would Damoiseu react to Zalgo?" -Fire. Which started the whole deeper dive into Tyr's powers/abilities. When he's not holding back or his "trap card".

"Hm. They honestly seem to be on a very similar power level. Eldritch beings; Can induce insanity/Induce insanity;

Since Zalgo feeds/derives power from mankind's negative emotions/intent... Then Damoiseau -Or the Pirin part in him- Can repel him....partially. Given Pirin is the exact opposite, almost a saint in nature. And naturally seems to unite, instill virtues in others.

Like how someone will start to sing/dance and this pulls others into it. Not saying Odin can kill Zal. But can at least repel. ...And since Pirin is a SPIRIT, not a mortal, then there's a chance Tyr can try and possibly destroy his candle.

Odin vs Zalgo will be a Godzilla vs Kong sort of fight. But if both stood on the same playing field - Eldritch beings.

And best part-- Odin's powers counteracts (possibly) Zal's powers. Think of Osia and Pneuma. Or like how Rila and Venin -Meepin's Hypogean Oc- are cancelling and neutralizing each other out. At a permanent stand-still/Draw.

So Zalgo's powers hold little to no effect on Odin. No matter how pissed off that demonic entity gets. At most it could be very brief stun, but shake it off and lash viciously right back." -Finch

Another mild tangent here whoopsie-do.

"And if Pirin sees Zalgo throw/torture Raptor- It'll piss him off to no end. ("I don't want anyone to suffer in the ways I have.") And that would prompt the fusion to leap into the fray to fight off that thing.

Go full Gungnir/Eldritch/Biblically accurate/Columbina Seraphim/Fallen angel. Not to mention, Odin/Tyr sees the desert and his home- which it is- as his Domain. His turf.

And this lil dipshit (Zalgo) trespassing so blatantly, invading AND pulling stunts like that? In MY domain? NAH.

Now take all of this....And add Soren's "og" powers - The Blessing of the Dusk lord he has gained. I have a feeling Pirin would somehow greatly amplify it.

-> And if he calls upon his Moon/Sun status -Where he basically goes from a mere perpetually reincarnating, un-killable spirit of magic, to a legit HP Lovecraft eldritch entity? The type that warps reality -- Just like Zalgo?

Yup. It's messy. (The whole time Raptor is shielded by Odin after he kicks Zalgo off, yanks them out his grasp to kick-start the fight. A lot like how Merlin shielded from the cannon shots in Waves of Intrigue.)" -Finch

"Yup. And Raptor might try to land some damage, because they're stubborn, determined and suicidal af ( despite being scared af )." -Fire

"(As far as Odin is concerned Raptor is now under his eye/watch. Within his domain, HOME. Under his wing & jurisdiction. Like how a chieftain protects, leads and guides his people.) ....Aand tryin to keep the damn ''idiot'' birdie OUT of battle. Maybe keep the shield/dome/half-dome over them.

Or yoink the bird and "tuck them in the pocket of his coat". Some kind of Realm of eternity like Raiden shogun's. Plane of Euthymia. And keep the child safe there, out of battle and Zalgo's reach. (This method is very dire measure resort.)" -Finch

The Damoiseau's relations - Merlinverse & Esperia I go on a tangent about how Kojin and Krueger would react to this new amalgamation that's both Soren --And not Soren at the same time.

"You know how Soren has a biological older brother - Kojin? I think that bear would be horrified at what happened with his brother. Seeing the amalgam he's been turned to. That Soren, for all intents and purposes has technically died in that experiment... And in his place is Tyr/Odin. ..Oh hey more connections to the identity taking over thing. Huh. Fun.

Don't see Kruger being any happier, knowing what happened and that his nephew is gone. The last thread left of Orson, of his brother, gone. Burnt and replaced with... Whatever Tyr is.

And the worst part?

Odin "wears the skin and voice" of their lost relative. Uncanny, unnerving. It's Soren...but also not him. Only traces of him lingering maybe vaguely." -Finch

"Kruger might go ' Daenerys burning Kingslanding ' on whoever did this to his nephew.'' -Fire

"But there's no one there.... The camp is desolate yet untouched. Like a plague swept through as though a mist cloud of an avalanche. It's like walking into Chernobyl. Deserted, not a soul alive in sight.

And then he sees the crystalline blood? Amber? Things, with people frozen and trapped in there. Bit like bog-bodies. (Look up the Tollud man)." -Finch

Tyr and Raptor - "Grandpa"/ "patron" and his child/grandchild & "Herald, sentinel".

"Ngl. They'll be legitimately scared and go into full out panic attack. Because ' Raptor's convinced that everyone who gets close to them in any way will die '. And this 19 year old believes that they got Dam/Odin/Tyr killed.

So they'll be a shaking curled up ball in panic mode. Crying too." -Fire

"...Cue the shock when they see the dust settle at long last, Odin's figure returning. The invader driven out thoroughly.

That same soothing lullaby softly echo, flow throughout the plane of Euthymia.

"Little bird, what're you crying for?" -said in a low tone and a warm smile. You know the one, that a grandpa would give/regard his grandchild with."- Finch

"Raptor will be indeed shocked and shaking. Wondering if they're not a proxy to Zalgo anymore. Because the only believable way out of Zalgo or Slenderman's control is death.

And upon hearing that question, Raptor would hug him tightly and cry a lot. Raptor will be clutching onto him like their life depends on it. Plus, knowing that their life was mostly horror shit, this is one of the very few moments where they get some kind of comfort." -Fire

"Remember how Pirin is the protector of the home and family/families? Guardian of bloodlines/kin? --This shows through, is passed/became Odin/Try (Damoiseau). Which also ties together really nicely with another theme strongly present in Mauler culture-- Family. Kin." -Finch

"So he yoinks Raptor up and says ' Adopted '?

Again. Poor birdie is overwhelmed and confused." -Fire

"I mean.. yeah. Odin basically, unceremoniously said in every way "This child is mine now.", taken under my wing." -Finch

"Lmao. Zelda be wondering where her niephew went." -V

"To Grandpa, where else? And then she sees Raptor chilling/ hanging around Odin." -Finch "Zelda has many, MANY questions" -V

"Like 'How did my niephew find this cryptid? And HOW did this ''old man'' manage to adopt/casually yoink them from under Magda's nose so unceremoniously?' "-Finch

"TRUEEEE! Speaking about Magda... Odin... Hide Raptor from her" -V "Might even teach Raptor a trick or two on how to deal with folks the level of Magda and Zalgo-- Fight back and brush off their powers/attacks." -Finch

"Help stabilize, some kind of immunity. Get on his level, they ARE his child/grandchild now after all. And can't hide them forever. Nor plans to. Cue Raptor getting powers similar to Odin - A lot like how Sena as Pirin's patron granted him his blessings. Odin granted Raptor his own.

...I mean what better Tooth/Arrow/Eye, than your own child/grandchild right?

Not 100% one to one Patron and Herald, Sentinel... but relatively close." -Finch

"Maybe Raptor could recover their seraph wings too. And their angel powers." -V/Firenation

"I think it'd be really cool how Raptor themselves become like an omen, their mere presence an indicator Odin is either nearby already. Or is arriving/arrival is imminent.

Like Pirin being an omen that Malak is around/imminently arriving/arrived

Possible.

In this sense...perhaps they've gone through their own "death". Symbolical, but death regardless. And "rebirth". "-Finch

It's a really cute, possibly ironic, parallel of Tyr and Raptor's relation mirroring Sena and Pirin's so much. From dynamic to 'patron' & 'herald'. And how yet again the themes of rebirth, home, family protector and guardian of bloodlines/kin comes to play. It's both Soren's themes- War, hunt, strife, strength that overlap with Pirin's - Home, family and kin.

"....Funny enough I can somehow see Arlecchino pull the same thing as Odin did. The adoption thing and "patron" & "herald". " -Finch

About Odin's age- Soren was already 18/19-20 before getting fused. Not much change there, and since the age gap between him and Rin isn't as glaring-- The Damoiseau is about two years younger of Pirin's human age equivalent. 23 or 20. How/Why did Soren take on a different name? Because he's no longer the same Mauler as he was. Like how Odin went symbolic death, hanging upside-down from the tree of life (if I'm not mistaken) - Soren went through "death" and got a new life as a cryptid. There are fragments, lingering remnants of him in the fusion, but it's not the same. So the teen and Pirin agreed on a consciousness level, that adopting a new name would be better. A clean sever with the past, the previous life, instead of keep trying to brute force the new life to fit into the quo of the past one. It took some days of deliberating, moments where Soren is alone with his thoughts- with Pirin, this new part of himself in a meditation. And the Night Jin told him, showed him, a story -Story of the people of the North, buried in the pages of time. How the Norse had gods and myths, and one of them was of war named Tyr. And how his father, Odin the all-knowing, all-seeing All-Father, would take on his identity whenever it suited him. Not pleased with Tyr switching efforts from war to peace. Thus, Soren took on the names Tyr -War & Peace- and Odin given his prophetic ability gained, future foresight, and the countless eyes do help him know...So that checks out. Henche, Tyr/Odin.

[abubblingcandle]

📖☺️🗣️🎬

📖 Share the last line of any chapter

This is likely the last line of A Treatment Room Doors Moment Ch3 (but not 100% because I'm restructuring)

“Don’t pull anything!” Roy shouted after them. Jamie didn’t slow. Roy sighed and limped along behind.

😊 Share a happy line

The cutest thing I have written that is unposted is from far later in A Treatment Room Moment

"And that's the house that used to have this really shitty porch on it that I would climb when Aaron and I had a summer where we decided we were going to learn parkour," Jamie gesticulated at another house.  "Jamie no," Roy groaned, he could tell where this was going. "Jamie yes. Foot went right through the roof panels didn't it. Had to try and get ma leg right out with tearing the shit out of my trousers all while being screamed at and hit with the end of a mop," Jamie grinned, in no way remorseful for his childhood property destruction.

🗣️ Share your favourite dialogue exchange

From Ch4 of The Richmond Job (The Fiddle Job Chapter)

"Ok, Jamie you are good to go. One day someone is going to start stopping people in high vis holding a clipboard walking in wherever they want and that is going to make my life a lot harder. I've got control over the sound systems and the autotune software working. For one job only, Jamie Tartt has perfect pitch, and a slightly less irritating accent," Beard's voice signalled the start of their performance. "Hey!" Jamie hissed his protest but was hushed by the stage manager. "Roy you are a go," Beard slid into expertly conducting the orchestra of the con from the sound box. Roy nodded for Ted's benefit and then started his walk over to Rebecca. Ted had his eyes on their target. His assistant grabbed his attention and tilted her head to where Roy was hunched over whispering something to Rebecca. Rebecca nodded, closing her laptop and turning to face the stage as Roy fell into bodyguard stance next to her. "And cue Jamie, sell it. We need them to buy in to you as something they want," Beard explained, getting a scoff from Jamie. "Watch the master at work, Stephen," Ted could hear the smirk in Jamie's voice. "Still not my name," Beard sighed. "I will get it one day," Jamie rapid fire muttered under his breath before emerging out onto the stage.

🎬 Share the last line you’ve written

Slightly longer than a line but I couldn't work out where to cut off Jamie's monologuing. I had a beat of inspiration while walking home from work today for my Whumptober Day 7 which is where Jamie doesn't come back to Richmond in S2

"It's all been mind games and I let it haunt me for too long. Be a team player Jamie, bare your soul and we'll reward you by throwing you out with the rubbish and making you a laughing stock. Pass the ball Jamie, damn the consequences but we'll ignore you when those consequences come knocking. You got us relegated Jamie, but here's a sweet note and stupid little toy even though we all hated you. Everyone deserves a second chance but not you Jamie, it's not the best idea. But I've found it." Jamie barked out a cynical laugh. "I'm lost and broken enough now to agree to anything. Lost and broken enough to join the Lasso and Kent personality cult. You've won Ted. Whatever your plan was you've won. Because I can't say no. If I ever want to play real football again. If I ever want to play for England. Then I've got to sign on the dotted line. So congratulations Ted. You've got your loyal little puppy."

[eldrai]

Not Worth It

Whumptober 2021 - day 3 - prompt: insult

Character: Reid

Warnings: ableism, r-slur, brief/mild homophobia

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Spencer isn’t naïve. He is young and he looks young but he isn’t stupid. He hadn’t graduated with the expectation that because he was older, had qualifications to back him up, the world would collectively mature in kind. After all, he’d gained his relative immunity to insults because it hurt less to let them taunt him than it had to confront them and end up shoved in a locker or tied up on the football field.

He had hoped things might be different. Not expected. Not assumed.

Just hoped.

ao3 / masterlist

“—were actually invented in the early fifteenth century, though the first versions were, uh, significantly more spherical and made of a wood like beech. It’s also highly likely they used cows’ hair inside leather—”

The cop – Maciewicz – nudges the officer beside him. “Does he ever stop talking?”

Spencer is fairly sure the jab is intended to be audible. It’s an interesting social convention, that sort of insult, where everyone including the target hears it but the person who said it can’t be called out on it because they supposedly directed it at nobody in particular. Interesting, and very high-school of them: Maciewicz is closer to forty than thirty and beginning to bald, and the stale remnants of cigarette smoke follows his colleague wherever he goes.

It doesn’t offend Reid these days. Attending a public LA high school is its own distinct circle of hell but doing so at nine? University at twelve? He’s been called most names under the sun and petty insults don’t get under his skin like they used to.

Which isn’t to say they aren’t annoying.

What he hates the most is the variety of people who insult him: they all have different reactions, different sore spots, and getting them to go away isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation. Reid has dealt with enough bullies to understand that ‘ignore them and they’ll go away’ is useless, if not downright dangerous advice, but there is a whole spectrum of solutions which may or may not work. Get it wrong, and they just grow more persistent.

Spencer isn’t naïve. He is young and he looks young but he isn’t stupid. He hadn’t graduated with the expectation that because he was older, had qualifications to back him up, the world would collectively mature in kind. After all, he’d gained his relative immunity to insults because it hurt less to let them taunt him than it had to confront them and end up shoved in a locker or tied up on the football field.

He had hoped things might be different. Not expected. Not assumed.

Just hoped.

Of course they aren’t.

He pays them no mind and continues to explain the significance of the golf balls their unsub keeps leaving behind. If they didn’t want him to talk, they shouldn’t have asked for his opinion.

This seems like a fairly straightforward case and with any luck, they’ll only have to tolerate the local police department for a couple of days more.

He may have jinxed it.

(Once when they had come to take his Mom to inpatient, Spencer had overheard someone at the front desk talking lowly to someone else, and her words had stuck with him: see, that’s what you get for saying it’s quiet today!

That was always the gist of what was said on TV hospital dramas too. Police chaos isn’t all that different from hospital chaos, he thinks. There’s always too much of it and it’s unpredictable in its unpredictability.)

The curveball this time is their unsub is not a lone male but a male-female duo – he carries out the kills but under her direction. Classic submissive-dominant dynamic. The thing with pairs is they crack. Bend under the pressure until they break and lives are lost in the collateral damage.

Case in point: Marcy Edgeworth, aged twenty-four, Caucasian female, death by blunt force trauma. She is the first female victim and the first to have been left to lie where she’d died. That isn’t a good sign. No indication of sexual assault pre- or post-mortem but there is an incomplete ring of bite marks just beneath her right collarbone, exposed due to her torn shirt.

“What, never seen a naked girl before?” Jamison – Maciewicz’s colleague – mutters. Just low enough for Spencer to hear as he is trying to get on with his job, unlike a certain pair of officers.

“Woman,” he corrects, for her age, “and yes, I have.”

He hopes the lightness in his tone offsets the brusqueness. Spencer shifts his crouching into kneeling and leans forwards to examine her hair. It’s an artificial red – her roots and her eyebrows are blonde – and their previous victims have all had brown hair.

“Only counts if it’s outside a morgue,” Maciewicz chimes in.

He ignores them but their gaze burns the back of his head, and their presence has his guard raised. They stand behind him and their shadows stretch out over the grass either side of him. They’re going for a reaction, Spencer assumes.

Biting is an interesting thing without an accompanying sexual assault. If nothing else it gives them a good estimation of their male unsub’s teeth. The impression he’s getting from the scene is one of interruption, an impulse kill whose victim he had to leave too soon. It is a public park and it was an early-morning dog walker who found her – likely a jogger or someone on a night shift.

Jamison clears his throat once, twice, then taps him on the shoulder. Spencer rears away from his touch. People never ask, they just do.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Jamison says. “I – we – we were wondering why you do that… thing.”

“What thing?” Spencer asks.

Jamison gestures. “You know, the – you know.”

Is that some sort of punchline he’s missing? Spencer glances over at Maciewicz and finds a mild amusement. Nothing to indicate he should be laughing, nor should he know what they do mean.

Maybe he’s missing the cue. He’s better at it these days, but not perfect.

“No, I don’t.”

With a furtive glance at the precinct’s captain, deep in conversation with one of the forensic technicians, Jamison sighs. “The thing with your hands, the—” He shakes his hands in an exaggerated manner.

Spencer’s hands still. He hadn’t thought it was very noticeable and more to the point, Jamison is definitely overexaggerating it like kids in middle school used to do. Only back then they had his unusual gait and meltdowns to mock too. “I don’t do that,” he says firmly.

(He’d answer it if it was a genuine question. Respectful. He loves people who ask out of genuine good intent. They are few and far between.)

Maciewicz snickers.

“Yeah, you do,” Jamison says. “I want to know why, that’s all.”

“Makes you look like a retard,” Maciewicz adds.

…and there it is.

He goes cold from head to toe. It never fails to make him feel as if someone has just dumped a bucket of water right over him, washing away his enthusiasm and excitement and everything else he values. Leaves the bare bones, the weirdness, each of the hundred ways he never quite fits in.

Spencer hates the word.

Because they don’t care about his IQ or eidetic memory or reading skill when they say that, and they don’t care after he tells them.

Nobody calls him that because they think he is. They say it to hurt him.

He wishes it wouldn’t.

Despite how often he’s heard it, he never has a response. His mind goes blank and all he can pull from it is the roots – re,from Latin: back, and tardus, from Latin: slow – as if they give a damn about etymology. As if that’s a normal person’s response. Today is no exception so it’s a blessing when Morgan wanders over.

“You got anything, pretty boy?” he asks. Maciewicz and Jamison snort. If Morgan hears it, he pays it no mind. “They found a guy’s baseball cap over there. No hair but it looks like it’s our man’s.”

And once again, his mind goes blank. Makes you look like a retard. He’d been thinking about – the bite mark, yes, what does that indicate? Spencer catches his hands moving and shoves them in his pockets before they can. “He was interrupted,” he says. “It explains why the bite isn’t complete and why he didn’t notice he’d left his hat.”

Morgan nods. “The person who found the body didn’t recall seeing anyone else around, so you think he’d just left before they got there?”

“Probably,” Spencer says. “I think the woman might be blonde. If they got into a fight, he’d be stressed, he’d be thinking about her. Maybe she reminded him of her.”

“Could be the hair, could be something else,” Morgan says. “He won’t have talked to her, not if he hit her from behind.”

“What if they did? She could have walked away—”

“Maybe,” Morgan says. “But if her hair was dyed, he wouldn’t see that unless they were up close, right? He’d initially go for her because she’s got red hair, not blonde. And if they did talk, Prentiss says no woman’s gonna just turn her back on a strange man. Especially in the middle of the night with no-one around.”

It’s a valid point, and it isn’t condescending. Nonetheless it hurts. Spencer studies the ground for a long moment and tries to forget (retard) Maciewicz and Jamison. “The unsub isn’t going to be someone he’s sexually attracted to,” he says. “He didn’t assault her, and if the victim reminds him of the other unsub, he’d probably have tried to even if someone interrupted him before he really could.”

A burst of laughter from Maciewicz and Jamison. His cheeks go hot with embarrassment—they must be talking about him, what else is there to laugh about? Morgan follows his gaze. “There a problem?” he asks.

Maciewicz holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No, no. Just… the hell is that about, ‘pretty boy’?”

Morgan shrugs. Spencer isn’t sure if it’s as casual as it looks.

“Well, makes sense,” Jamison says. “Course he’s gonna freak out over a naked girl if he doesn’t swing that way.”

…oh, great.

Spencer doesn’t mind exactly what they say as much as the implication—that they know, that they’re entitled to know his sexuality. How they say it as if gay is equivalent to bad. Once again, how utterly high school it all is. And he knows Morgan isn’t going to appreciate it either, probably more insulted on his behalf than Spencer himself.

“And you care, because...?” Morgan says, looking back and forth between them.

“I don’t,” Jamison says.

“He’s…” Maciewicz stammers, “…you know.”

“Smarter than you?” Morgan suggests. “Better at his job than you? A better person than you?”

“You don’t have to stick up for him,” Jamison says. “Must get annoying to deal with a re—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer interrupts. It isn’t. It really isn’t but it isn’t worth the conversation. How tiring it gets to deal with it, how much easier it is to walk away. These officers aren’t going to change their worldview on disabilities all of a sudden. “Morgan.”

Morgan takes in his posture, the unnatural stillness as he forces himself not to fidget, though the look in his eyes doesn’t fade. “The only people I don’t want to ‘deal with’ are both of you.”

The men share a look – not so much chastened as disappointed their fun was interrupted – but they do back off.

“They already seem to think I’m incapable,” Spencer says irritably. “I said it was fine, I didn’t need you to say anything.”

He crouches down to examine the bite again.

“It didn’t matter,” Spencer says. His hands itch and despite needing to, he can’t bring himself to move. Makes you look like a retard.

“Does if it bothers you,” Morgan insists. “And it did, don’t look at me like that.”

He sighs. They’re not even there any more, the two cops out on patrol and them revisiting the penultimate crime scene. “I’m used to it.”

“And?” Morgan says. “Just because you are doesn’t mean you have to put up with it—”

“It was five minutes at most,” Spencer points out. “Everyone else was fine.”

“Yeah, and they were dicks.”

He shrugs.

“What else did they say?”

Spencer rolls the fabric of his sweater between his fingers and feigns ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what else did they say when I wasn’t there, ‘cause they said something.”

“Makes you look like a retard.”

He doesn’t mean to say it – wasn’t sure what he had planned to say, but it certainly wasn’t that – but he says it nonetheless, his tone mimicking the disdain and irritation. And now Morgan definitely isn’t going to believe him if he says he’s fine and it’s going to make the situation worse to explain that he mostly is, he just hasn’t heard it for a while, he’s used to it.

Stupid echolalia.

“Like I said,” Morgan says, “they were dicks.”

Spencer doesn’t point out being rude doesn’t automatically mean lying. “I’ve heard worse.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t give them the right to say stuff like that.”

He rocks back on the balls of his feet. His hands aren’t co-operating but the swaying motion is a good substitute. “I’m okay.”

“You know,” Morgan says casually, “whenever you lie, you stand exactly the same way.”

Spencer looks up. The expression on Morgan’s face falls somewhere between sadness and sympathy but, he thinks, not pity. It’s a nice change.

“Kid, the only thing you’re gonna get from pretending you’re OK is worse,” Morgan says. “It’s not worth it. Not for anyone but especially not morons like that.”

“It’s not worth it,” Spencer repeats. The words catch in his thoughts and he murmurs it again and again and Morgan isn’t even slightly annoyed at him.

(It isn’t worth it—he knows this—but maybe it is. Just a tiny bit. Just for the part where he has friends who tell him things like this, who don’t mind when he’s awkward. Who don’t mind him.

Friends who say nothing about it but when they get back to the station, the pair are getting chewed out by a pissed off captain.)

A/N: I had trouble getting this to flow as well as my other ones, there's something about it I just can't figure out. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Name Written on My Heart

Sequel to Name on a Coffee Cup  requested by Anon. Happy Valentines/Galentines Day my darlings! 

Modern!Tommy and Ava continue their relationship outside the cafe.

             After his first date with Ava, Tommy felt like his heart was slowly being restarted. After Grace passed, he assumed that the rest of his love would be given to Charlie. But even then, he felt like he was failing.

            Oftentimes his son would much rather go spend the day with his aunts or uncles or have playdates with friends. Polly assured him that it was natural for the young boy to want to be independent as he got older. But still, Tommy felt like he was always the second pick for Charlie and he was afraid it was because he just wasn’t enough for the boy. 

            When Ava began to spend time at Tommy’s flat, Charlie gravitated toward her like a magnet. Not that Tommy could blame him. She was much better at interacting with him. She wasn’t afraid to get down to his level to play and go along with his wild imagination. Still, Tommy was a bit dismayed he wasn’t the kind of father Charlie needed.

            Until he subconsciously took cues from Ava to relax a bit. He wasn’t as strict and felt like his relationship with Charlie was getting better and more natural.

~~~~~~~~~~

            On the other hand, Tommy was easing back into a serious relationship. There were a few roadblocks along the way. Around Halloween one year, Ava came over to carve pumpkins and bake some sugar cookies in the shape of bats and ghosts. Charlie had a ball and demanded that Monster Mash be played over and over again as he darted around the living room on a sugar high. When he finally crashed, Tommy carried him to bed before helping Ava clean up the mess in the kitchen.

            “It’s late.” She noted.

            “Yeah, I’ll drive you home. Don’t want you taking the tube this late.”

            “Oh.” Ava glanced by the door where she’d left her bag. The bag that she had packed a change of clothes and her toothbrush in. Her face went red as she realized how stupid it was that she thought it would be the first night she might sleepover.  

            Tommy read her expression and paused. They’d been dating for quite some time. Almost two years at that point. He was even beginning to think that maybe they would spend the rest of their lives together. He could certainly see it happening, even if it was a bit soon to know for sure. And yet, there was always that hesitation that he felt. The protectiveness he had for Charlie. The thought that Tommy didn’t deserve love. The fear that he would lose someone else that he cared so deeply about.

            “I understand, it’s alright,” Ava said as if she could read his mind.

            Tommy didn’t move for a moment. Half of him wanted her to stay, half of him wanted to just drive her home so he could be by himself. Something he thought he deserved. She was far too kind and forgiving for him. Far too sensible. Far too sweet. Far too understanding.

            “Stay.” The word came out before Tommy could realize what he’d said. “I want you to stay. You belong here…you’re perfect with Charlie and you get him better than I do. I know I don’t deserve you but I would do anything to have you here, even if it’s just for a night.”

            Ava hugged him close and kissed his cheek. “I think you’re selling yourself too short.” She murmured. “Charlie adores you and so do I.”

            Tommy took a deep breath and held her for a moment before she slipped away.

            “C’mon, let’s take care of this mess so we can go to bed.” She smiled at him.

~~~~~~~~~~

            It was what Tommy loved about her so much. She made having emotions so much easier. There was no big spectacle of it, she never called him out for feeling upset or depressed. She always knew exactly what to say.

            The next year, once Ava’s lease was up, she moved into Tommy’s flat. Charlie was overjoyed that he had there every day. And she meshed perfectly with their schedules. On the days that she was opening the café, she woke up early, around the same time Tommy did. They went about their morning routines and welcomed in Charlie’s nanny who would wake up the boy for school. When Ava worked later shifts, she took care of getting Charlie to school on time. It worked exceptionally well.

            Almost to a point where Tommy expected things to go wrong. Everything was going too well and he became very suspicious. About a year after Ava moved in, Tommy self-sabotaged.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            One night, Ava had gone out with friends from uni that she hadn’t seen in a while. Tommy was up late working at the flat when she came home. Although a little tipsy, she was coherent as she kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

            “I take it you had fun then.” Tommy chuckled.

            “It really was. Of course, we didn’t close the pub like we did back in those days. My ex-boyfriend wanted to stay but we were all so tired.” She laughed softly.

            It set off a trigger inside Tommy. “Didn’t know your ex would be there.”

            “Our whole friend group was. We’ve been planning a little reunion like this for a while.” Ava didn’t immediately pick up on his icy tone.

            Tommy set down his pen and leaned back in his desk chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Just something I thought you’d tell me.”

            “I didn’t think it would matter.” She frowned and withdrew her arms. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

            He didn’t answer, looking ahead at his laptop on a home screen.

            “Tommy, honestly.” Ava tried again to make him talk with no avail. “We dated years ago. I’ve been dating you longer than I’ve ever dated anyone else. You really think I’d throw that all away?”

            Tommy simply shrugged.

            She scoffed at his attempt to be blasé to the issue when she knew he was stewing inside. “You’re impossible.” With a huff, she stormed out of the room and went to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

 ~~~~~~~~

            The next day was even worse. After spending the night on the couch, Tommy felt like an ass for what he’d done. Although it wasn’t an argument like they’d had before, it still cut deep. He had basically spelled out that he didn’t trust her. It wasn’t entirely true. Tommy trusted Ava because it was unlike her to be unfaithful. But he didn’t trust the world. He’d seen what could happen to good people. In his eyes, Ava had a target on her back because of her tendency to be so warm-hearted and vulnerable.

            That morning, Ava had left before Tommy could even get a word of apology in. She didn’t answer his texts throughout the day and it drove him insane. He had to settle for the breakroom coffee because he couldn’t gather up the courage to go down to the café and face Ava.

            The rest of the office picked up on the fact that he was in a sour mood. All but Arthur, who walked in whistling to himself.

            “So, what’ve you got planned for Valentine’s Day?” The eldest Shelby asked.

            Tommy looked up from his paperwork, then to the calendar on his desk. Indeed, Valentine’s Day was that weekend. He’d ordered a custom bracelet for Ava and had it hidden in his desk drawer. But other than that, he’d completely forgotten. “I’m not sure.” He mumbled. “I upset her last night.”

            Arthur sighed. “Tom, we’ve talked about this. You don’t think you deserve happiness so you ruin your own life. You can make it up to her. Just put on the ‘ol charm, aye?”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~` 

            Ava was giving Tommy the silent treatment for most of the week. He felt it was deserved and just prayed Arthur was right and that he could redeem himself.

            Come Sunday, Ava came home from work. She still felt hurt, especially since Tommy appeared to have forgotten it was even Valentine’s Day. But then Charlie rushed to the door.

            “Ava, Ava!” He was bouncing up and down. “C’mon!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

            Tommy was chopping up vegetables. He glanced up and smiled sheepishly.

            Ava looked a bit confused. “What’s all this?” There was an array of items all laid out on the counter. Balls of dough were resting on cutting boards next to little bowls of toppings.

            “I asked Charlie what we could do special for Valentine’s Day.”

            “And I wanted pizza!” The little boy piped up. “Look, he climbed up onto a stool and patted the dough.

            A small smile formed on Ava’s face. “Well, that looks fun.” She said and walked over.

            “Here, Charlie,” Tommy handed his son the rolling pin. “Try to flatten it, but not too thin.” Then he turned to Ava.

            “So, you were scheming today, huh?” She asked.

            “Av, I’m sorry.” He took her hands in his. “Whenever I have a good thing, I never think I deserve it. And you’re one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

            “I don’t want you pushing me away.” She replied quietly. “If you have an issue, tell me. I’m here to be your confidant.”

            Tommy nodded and took a deep breath. He kissed her softly.

            “Daddy, s’a square pizza!” Charlie exclaimed.

            The two pulled away and chuckled. Indeed, the little boy had rolled the dough out into a square.

            “I guess it’ll taste the same.” Ava smiled and went over to help him.

            Tommy lingered to the side a bit, watching her with Charlie. The two laughed as they made a mess with the sauce and cheese.

            This was a good thing. He would hold onto the good and keep it close to his heart. Everyone deserved love. Tommy was just thankful that he had Ava and Charlie.

            “Daddy, look,” Charlie called.

            Tommy chuckled when he saw a smiley face made of pepperoni on the pizza. “Why don’t you make it a heart? It’s Valentine’s Day.”

            His son made a face. “That’s yucky.”

            “Oh, Charles, you won’t be my Valentine?” Ava pouted.

            “No, gross. Girls are gross.”

            “Are they, then?” Tommy raised an eyebrow then went to give Ava a big dramatic kiss.

            “EW!” Charlie pulled his shirt over his head to hide his face.

            They laughed. “Alright, alright. I guess your dad will be my Valentine. And maybe we can add a nose to the smiley face.” Ava put another piece of pepperoni on the pizza. “Go on and add some peppers and onions. I’ve got to get your Valentine gifts.” She washed her hands and went down the hall.

            Tommy took the cue and grabbed Ava’s necklace from his briefcase.

            Ava returned with two wrapped gifts. “Charlie, love, this is from dad and me.” She gave him a box which he happily tore into to find an art supply kit.

            “Wow, cool! Thanks!” He beamed.

            Ava and Tommy exchanged gifts as well. He opened his to find a photograph of his newest racehorse with his name, Kingsman, carved into the silver frame.

            “To add to your collection.” She smiled knowing that Tommy kept a photo of all of his winning horses in his office.

            “I love it.” He remarked at the stunning picture of the pure black stallion.

            Ava didn’t answer. She had opened the jewelry box to find the silver necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. She had never owned anything so beautiful before. “Tom…” Her eyes welled up with tears.

            “D’you like it?” He asked hesitantly.

            “Of course.” Her voice shook. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.” She touched his cheek and kissed him deeply.

            “Daddy, I don’t like mushrooms, I’m not putting mushrooms on the pizza.” Charlie interrupted them.

            “Alright, it was worth a shot.” Tommy sighed and went back over to the counter.

            “That looks very nice, Charlie.” Ava praised. “Why don’t we let dad put it in the oven and we can check out your new art supplies.”

            “Okay!” Charlie hopped down from the stool and carried the box to the kitchen table.

            Ava kissed Tommy’s cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” She said softly.

//It felt so funny writing the tube. Like I feel like it’s some sort of slang that Americans think British people use but they don’t? In my city we call the subway the T. That’s also stupid but our subway lines are bastards who don’t deserve full names or loving nicknames. Fuck you T. 

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

PB Masterlist

[kessielrg]

[KHUX] Honey Disguised as Vinegar

Summary: In which Brain meets a bitter child, and takes a shine to her. [oneshot for now][pre Keyblade War]

Rating: K

Word count: 2,913 words

If you like this story, please reblog!

---

It was barely noon and Brain had finished all of his missions for the day. Such a great feeling knowing he had the rest of the day to himself as he went on back to Fountain Square. He almost felt like calling upon his Chirithy just to brag a little. He wouldn't though, although Chirithy probably would have liked to chat with him; even he knew to keep a nuance of subtle pride. It still would have been nice to just chat with Chirithy, since it had been awhile. Fountain Square was a good place to relax if no one else was there. At this time of day, everyone should have still been doing their missions. Unless they were like him and finished early, of course.

Yet, somehow Brain still found himself surprised to see a girl sitting on the fountain's lip. She had scrunched herself into a ball, and was muttering things to herself in a darkened tone. Brain titled his fedora up a little to get a better look at her. The girl couldn't have been much older than 9 or 10 years old- that grouchy look on her face did add about five years to the perceived age, though. What a weird little talent to have.

Chirithy would have to wait a little longer, this kid needed a friend.

Brain adjusted his fedora a bit before making his way over to the fountain. He smoothed out the leg of his pants before taking a seat not far from the grumpy child. She barely even acknowledged him- just a slight turn away as she continued to bitterly mumble to herself. Admittedly, seeing it up close made it seem rather cute. Brain put on a wide smile before teasingly asking her;

“What's that look for? Did a Heartless call you a mean name?”

The girl let out an undignified 'humph' before grumbling under her breath, “The only Heartless around here are stupid party members.”

“I hear that.” Brain agreed with a sagely nod. He casually leaned a bit on the fountain before rambling, “Some party members can be your best friends. Others it seems like you can't get along worth anything- makes you wanna leave and find some other folks to hang with.”

“They're the ones that should leave.”

“So you're having party troubles?”

But the girl shook her head. “I got kicked out of my party.” she told him, her voice holding a quiet darkness to it. “Said I wasn't keeping up, so they got rid of me.”

Brain gave a small shrug of indifference- parties dropping members because they had outdated medals was nothing new. If anything, with the rumors of the Foretellers distrusting each other, parties were starting to kick out members even faster than before. Everyone wanted lux. It was only a matter of time before their hunger got the better of them. But that wasn't Brain's battle to deal with, he was occupied with something else at the moment.

“Did you get your missions done for the day?” he asked her. When the girl shook her head, he then offered, “Then let's pair up. Just you and me for today. What do you think?”

The suggestion certainly got her attention. She picked up her head and gave him a rather suspicious glance.

“I think you don't even know my name.” she refuted, even folding her arms in defiance.

“Fair enough.” he shrugged. “The name's Brain. What's yours?”

The girl sat up a bit straighter. “Sabrina.” she informed him. “It means princess.”

“I'm sure it does.” Brain teased as he started to stand up. “So allow me to be the brains of our operation, princess, and together we can be done with your mission in the next hour.”

He adjusted his hat a bit before offering a hand out to her. Sabrina cautiously looked at his hand; a hesitation that Brain almost expected. Carefully, and in her own time, the girl took his hand and got off of the fountain as well.

"Now," Brain then mused, tilting his hat upwards in a playful manner to humor her. "What did you say your mission was again?"

. . .

No matter how much each of the Daybreak Town wielders tried to deny it, Agrabah was just a breeding ground for all sorts of Heartless. No shocker that Sabrina's mission was to take place there. Or, at the very least, she insisted that it had to be done here. By the way she acted, it didn't feel like it was due to any personal preference of hers. Brain wondered if this was a world her old party used to work in. Coming here to finish her daily mission was just a habit.

"So," Brain idly said as the duo walked through the endless sands, "Do you have a grand plan on taking down the Heartless, or do you like to make it up as you go along?"

"Of course I have a plan." Sabrina spat back in disgust. "I like to lure the Heartless away from larger hoards to take them on in smaller pieces. Most of my medals are ideal for groups, so I could do it the other way around- I just don't want to."

"I can see that." Brain agreed with a knowing nod. "Not a bad little strategy either."

The girl nodded, but stopped in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed at something a little further ahead. Brain took her cue to see a group of monkey-like Heartless called Powerwild. Almost immediately after, Sabrina took Brain's wrist and forced the two of them off to the side. The noise gained the attention of one of the Powerwilds, leading it to go investigate. Brain gladly took a step back to watch Sabrina cut down each Powerwild without too much effort. She didn't tend to rely on the medals placed on her Keyblade, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. It could have been done a lot faster if she had, though. Brain only came out from his safety spot when it looked like the coast was clear.

"Well done," he said to Sabrina, almost surprising her. But instead of some sense of pride, her face detailed anger instead. Sabrina opened her mouth to tell him something before something shot a projectile at her arm. The small sound of hurt immediately gave Brain an instinct to help her.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he all but took her arm to look it over. Sabrina stepped out of his way to glare at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." she sharply informed him. Her attention then turned to where the projectile came from, even pointing her Keyblade at the offending party. It was a new breed of Heartless that looked a lot like the Powerwild, but was colored purple and carrying a slingshot-like weapon. "But that Sniperwild won't be in the next few minutes."

The monkey-like Heartless gave her a curious tilt of its head before letting out an ear-splitting screech. Both Sabrina and Brain flinched at the noise. When the two were able to recover from it, they quickly found that the single Powerwild had called in for more of its kind. Sabrina and Brain were completely surrounded by other Powerwilds with no easy way to lure them away.

"Well," Brain casually mused as he brought his Keyblade out, "This can't be good."

Taking it as a sign to move onward, the Powerwilds aimed their slingshots at the duo and let their endless ammo rain down upon them. In order to minamalize the damage made to them, Sabrina and Brain found themselves almost back to back. A small flicker of fear crossed Brain's mind. Sabrina had been good at the single Powerwilds earlier, but with this many Heartless that held an advantage at being at every angle? There was no way she (or himself, for that matter) could take them all on at once. They did try their best to guard against most of the Sniperwilds' attacks, but it wasn't going to hold them off for much longer. The Sniperwilds were closing the distance between them, their attacks coming in faster and closer with each step.

"Hey Sabrina," Brain casually said as his mind was otherwise running a mile a minute, "You wouldn't happen to know any off medal magic, would you?"

"Off medal...?" the girl repeated in confusion before blocking a projectile that got rather close to her face. Taking a moment to think about what he meant, she then said, "Gravira. I know Gravira without medals."

"Perfect!" Brain declared, as if a light bulb had flashed on inside his head. "Do you think you can target the Heartless in an alternating pattern?"

"I guess?" she agreed with a good trace of uncertainty. Brain wasn't blind to this, so he linked his arm into hers to reassure her.

"Trust me. I have a plan."

For a small, fleeting moment, Sabrina held Brain a bit tighter before letting the two of them go. The young child focused her energy into the spell before letting out a bellowing cry of "Gravity!" and trapping half of the Sniperwilds in a weak, but focused, gravitational pull. Knowing that he didn't have much time, Brain also prepared an attack of his own. He raised his Keyblade, and as he focused, cracks started to appear under the Sniperwilds not being held down by Sabrina. As long as the Heartless didn't move too quickly...

"Take this!" Brain shouted as he unleashed the attack- strong pillars of fiery light coming up from the cracks and immediately killing the Sniperwilds. Fire must have been their weakness. Too bad he spent almost all of his MP for that attack.

"Brain..." Sabrina spoke up, her voice slightly straining, "I can't..."

Apparently, Sabrina was at her magical limit as well.

"It's alright," Brain quickly told her, "Let them go and we can beat them the old fashioned way."

Sabrina did not need to be told twice at the command. She immediately cancelled the spell, just as easily dropping her exhausted arms like she had been holding a heavy weight instead. For a moment, Brain feared that she was going to pass out on him; or at the very least drop her Keyblade. The tenacious child didn't do either, instead taking a quick battle stance and waiting for Brain for the go ahead for the rest of his plan.

"After this," Brain then said in a voice that indicated he was speaking a thought, readying his Keyblade as well, "Let's get some ice cream."

"I'm picky." Sabrina warned him. Her grip tightening on her Keyblade as the remaining Sniperwilds ventured closer to the duo.

"Then I'll just let you choose at your leisure, and I'll pay for it all. Sound good?"

The child nodded, the duo using it as their cue to head off in opposite directions to attack the Heartless. Brain's attacks were more from a distance, whereas Sabrina almost got hit several times over from how close she'd get before taking the strike. She must have still been tired from trying to hold the Gravira spell earlier because her swings seemed just a bit off from each intended mark. But since she fought so close to begin with, it looked to be almost intentional. Working together, Sabrina and Brain cleared the rest of the Heartless in a few short minutes.

"Done." Brain decided before dispelling his Keyblade. Sabrina soon followed at the gesture, her body then sagging a little as she looked over the area. When Brain walked over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, the child almost fell headfirst in surprise and exhaustion. She looked up at him with diluted eyes that silently begged to be done for the day. Brain chuckled a little at it.

"I can carry you back if you want." he told her, partially joking. Sabrina immediately let out a sound of disgust before taking a rather large jump away from him.

"No way!" she spat. "I can walk back on my own."

Again, Brain laughed at her. "Whatever you say, little lady." he teased with a tip of his fedora. Sabrina gave him another little 'humph' and folded her arms in annoyance. Almost despite himself, Brain gave a small smile at it all.

. . .

Say what you wanted about Brain, but he always held true to his word. He let Sabrina pick out whatever ice cream she wanted then he paid for it without a fuss. They found a bench to sit at to enjoy their frozen desserts in a comfortable silence. When they finished their ice cream, Sabrina in particular looked like she was ready to go to sleep. For a moment, Brain how to appreciate just how much of a kid this... kid was. Sure, she knew a spell that nearly drained her, but her tenacity? It was almost something to be admired.

“I don't see how your party kicked you to the curb.” Brain smiled. “What you're able to do without medals is rather impressive. You've still got some pretty strong medals on you too. Well balanced ones, no less.”

The child looked away from him. Her eyes darted to the ground with a malice Brain thought had left hours ago. In a cold voice, Sabrina told him, “Medals are a sham.”

“Oh?” he curiously inquired back. “Do tell.”

At first, Sabrina only grimaced. She soon extended her hand to call her Keyblade. From there, she brought the keychain on the weapon close to her. She plucked out the medal placed in the third slot, then dispelled her Keyblade. Carefully, she took the medal with both hands and tightly held on to it. If she moved it in a certain way, she could almost get a glimpse of the hero it was meant to draw its power from. Beyond that, all that she really knew was that it was assigned as an upright speed medal.

“They say that these medals are drawn from heroes in the future, and the abilities they learned.” she carefully started to say. “Yet, we can't see who they are. We don't even know the name of the techniques they used. But the medals remember for us- we never need to know as long as we complete our missions.” A faint grimace appeared on her face for a moment. “That's what makes us different from the Foretellers. They were taught to memorize every technique from every era after ours, while we are told not to.”

“Fascinating theory.” the older boy nodded. “But not entirely right- we're still free to learn magic and techniques without the medals' help. We can also learn the names of the medals' techniques too. Once we use a medal often enough, anyway. It's like learning your best friend's name.”

“Best friend...” Sabrina repeated in a murmur. Her grip on the medal tightened a little as she contemplated telling Brain something, but ultimately kept it to herself. The moment's hesitation did not go unnoticed. Brain tilted his head at her before getting a closer look at the medal she was holding.

“You've used that medal a lot.” he casually observed. “Do you know the name of its ability yet?”

“Air Flair.” Sabrina summoned her Keyblade again to replace the medal in its slot. “It's a dumb name, but effective I guess. A bit too floaty for me.”

“And your old party said you couldn't keep up.” Brain snorted. “That medal's fairly recent.”

“Not when the Heartless get stronger every month.”

"You're not wrong." he agreed with a small nod. "But it's not the strength of the medal that truly counts. It's the strength of your heart."

Sabrina simply gave him an absent little hum of begrudging agreement. She slumped against the bench in what appeared to be the last of her will to stay awake draining away. Brain placed a hand on the back of the bench to make himself a bit more comfortable as well. Admittedly, at this point, he too was feeling more than a bit exhausted over the day's events. Not that he was going to regret it anytime soon. Getting to know someone new was always an exciting endeavor- let alone someone with as much spunk as this kid.

"Hey Sabrina," Brain mused- almost absently going to play with her hair, "Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

The girl lazily looked over at him, her face in slight annoyance as she tried to swat his hand away from her hair. "Why?" she prudently asked. Even when she looked dead tired, this kid could still sass off whoever she felt like.

"You're still party-less, that's why." he informed her. He even gave her nose a playful tap. Brain openly laughed when Sabrina scrunched her nose up in disgust at the small gesture. "Besides, you haven't told me the story of how you even learned Gravira in the first place."

"You haven't asked about it."

"I didn't?"

"No."

Brain chuckled a bit before going to adjust his hat out of habit. “Then let's meet up again tomorrow.” he decided. “You can tell me how you learned Gravira, we'll finish our missions together, and maybe once we get done, I think there's someone I'd like you to meet. Sound like a deal to you?”

The girl lulled the idea over for awhile before finally looking at Brain. "Deal." she agreed with a nod of her head.

He couldn't help it, but Brain started to grin from ear to ear.

[eastofthemoon]

@gsnkweek for the prompt First Snow

Title: Revenge

Rating: G

Characters/Pairings: Seo/Wakamatsu

Archive of Our Own

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the first snowfall of the year. The dusting was only a light snow and would most likely melt before long. However, upon closer inspection Wakamatsu discovered it was sticky enough to make a snowball.

It was time for revenge!

He waited just outside the school gates. He had a snowball ready in his hands.

It was a solid plan! He had worked out the perfect thing to say and everything. It was time for payback.

Right on cue, Seo obliviously appeared.

Wakamatsu smirked as he leapt out and held up the snowball. “HEY SEO!”

Seo paused and raised an eyebrow. “Waka?”

“I LIKE WATCHING SNOW FALL!” he cried and threw the ball...and watched it land at Seo’s feet with a subtle plop.

They both stared in silence.

Seo gave a slow clap. “Woo, very impressive,” she said with a grin. “Did you know you can see your breath when it’s cold too?”

“Hey, no, I can do this!” Wakamatsu cried and hastily formed another snowball.

I’m in basketball for pity’s sake! I should be able to throw a snowball! 

He threw again, and without a second thought his hand tried to dribble the ball. He blushed as the snowball crashed at his feet.

He buried his face into the concealment of a nearby tree. “Stupid body memory!”

A hand touched his shoulder.  Mournfully, he turned his head.

“Hey, come on,” Seo said with a smile. “Let’s go get something hot to drink and I can show you how to properly throw a snowball?”

He sniffled. “Really?”

Seo grinned and gave a thumbs up. “No problem.”

Wakamatsu wiped his eyes and sniffled. “You’re not going to use me as target practice, though, right?”

Seo was quiet.

“SEO!”

“Fine, I promise not to aim for your head.”

“Why my head specifically?!  Where else are you planning to aim?!”

[mamacesawrites]

Prince in the Storm: Chapter Four

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Virgil was sensitive. Most people saw him as some “spooky, broody dude”, when in reality he was just a private person. Teachers tried to open his mind up with a figurative crowbar. Everyone tried to get him to open up. Well, everyone except his best friend Talyn. They were the only one who understood his personality and inner workings just enough to be his friend. However, they haven’t seen his Marking. No one other than his parents have.

Contrary to popular belief, Roman was sensitive. Most people saw him as a fanciful, dreamy, somewhat egotistical thespian who wanted nothing but to be the best of the best. Everyone cheered him on in his performances. Everyone praised his original works. Anything he made others enjoyed. People would whisper about his Marking, wondering where it was and when he would reveal it. He had a whole circle of friends, yet no one except his best friend Joan understood him. Joan was the only one who saw Roman’s insecurities.

As students of Kingston High School, with zany principals and try-hard superintendents, it is up to Virgil and Roman to stay alive enough to fulfill their destiny.  Ao3

Word Count:  2007

Chapter Warnings: panic attack

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter FIfteen

Bonuses: Immune to Change

Chapter Four

Virgil shut the front door of his house rather loudly. He was in a bad mood. A very, very bad mood. All he wanted was to go upstairs to his room and sleep until the sun went away. Instead, he settled for dropping his backpack on the floor by the door. He wandered to the couch and plopped down on it, sighing in relief to be finally sitting on a plush surface. He leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Ever since Virgil could remember, he liked finding shapes on walls and ceilings. He would stare at the surface looking for the grooves, cracks, layers. He would then make shapes out of them with his eyes. Once he had the shape, he would make a story for it. Sometimes it was an apple being smashed by a foot. Sometimes it was a crowd of people at a carnival. Making the stories took time. It was something that always got him to calm down, and oh, he needed some calm. Some peace, and quiet, and rest. 

Soon the shapes started to get blurry. Virgil closed his eyes and laid down. Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. 

When Virgil woke up, it was dark outside and inside. None of the living room lights were on, not even the entryway lamp that was usually kept on all the time. The only light in the living room was from the street lamps shining through the window. He looked around curiously. Usually his dad got home just an hour after him. It took Virgil a moment to realize that he had a blanket pulled over him. A small smile tugged at his lips. Even though it could be unbearable sometimes, his father was always considerate. 

Virgil sat there for a minute scrolling through his phone. The only notification he had on his phone was a message from Talyn, and it was just a meme. Nothing he needed to respond to right away. Then he smelled it. Spaghetti. The wonderful, amazing smell of his favorite dinner food. 

Almost as if on cue, his stomach growled at him. Virgil looked up the hallway to see if the kitchen lights were on. Just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. There was light, but the door had been closed. Something twisted in Virgil’s chest. His dad was trying his hardest to care for him as a single dad, and Virgil had been dismissive of him this morning. 

God, I’m such an arrogant asshole.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss that line of thinking. Instead he let himself succumb to his hunger. He stood up, steadying himself after getting a head rush from standing too quickly. He recovered quickly, then made his way to the kitchen. 

As he got closer he realized his dad was talking to someone on the phone. Virgil, being a bit nosy, just stood by the door to listen. He tried very hard to quiet his breathing. 

Patton’s normally cheerful voice sounded frustrated. “Yes, I understand that he’s your nephew, but-...No, I don’t think you understand...Do you want him to have a target on his back? Cause that’s what would happen if-” he sighed, and waited a bit before he spoke again. “Fine. Just make sure you’re there to do your job. Don’t distract him, he’s been distracted enough lately.” With that, he hung up the phone. 

Virgil waited two breaths before entering the kitchen. He saw Patton leaning his hands against the counter, his shoulders tense from the strain. Virgil saw the pasta has already been mixed with the sauce. He also smelled the garlic bread still baking in the oven. His dad must have been in deep thought because he didn’t acknowledge his son until Virgil spoke up.

“Hey, dad. You okay?” he asked. Virgil noticed that his own voice was scratchy from sleeping for so long. 

He wanted to ask who it was on the phone, but he suspected that he already knew. No one really upset his dad except for one person; Uncle Thomas. There were so many questions running through his head, but he used up most of his mental strength to shove it all aside. His dad was upset. So that meant Virgil needed to bring him back into the moment. Which, Virgil admitted to himself, is what Virgil needed as well after the day he had. 

Patton quickly spun around at the sound of Virgil’s voice, startled. The shock was only brief, then replaced with his goofy grin that he had when he wasn’t alone. “Hey, kiddo. I didn’t hear ya wake up. You hungry?” 

Virgil just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak aloud without accidentally admitting he’d been eavesdropping. Virgil didn’t like lying. He felt slightly disgusted with himself for listening in on what was obviously an intense and private conversation. 

“Why dontcha set up the table while I finish up here, kiddo?” his dad asked, noticing Virgil had zoned out. 

“Y-yeah, sure thing, Dad.” 

He went to the cupboard above the sink where the plates were. He had just pulled two of them down when the timer for the garlic bread went off, startling him. He tried to stop himself from dropping the plate but he was still a bit uncoordinated after his midday nap. With a crash, the plates shattered onto the floor. 

Virgil bit his lip to hold back the tears threatening to leak from his eyes. The day had been full of accidents and mishaps. He just wanted to do something right for once. He got down on his knees to pick up the bigger pieces. 

“Virge, don’t touch those pieces, you could cut-”

Virgil shouted out,”Fucking shit!” and gripped his forefinger. Patton rushed over  to look him over. 

“Oh, kiddo. I’m sorry. Why don’t we stand up to get you a bandaid?” 

Virgil shook his head as the tears fell freely from his face. He was tired, and emotional, and a bit hungry. He had a long day and just wanted some freaking dinner. Was it too much to ask that he had a reprieve from the bad luck he seemed to accumulate throughout the day?

He leaned into his dad’s shoulder while cradling his bleeding finger. He felt stupid for crying over a tiny cut. Stupid for not being able to do something as simple as grab some plates. Stupid for not watching where he had been going and crashing into someone as popular as-

“Smell the flower for me, son” his dad requested softly. Virgil was tucked in his dad’s arms. He felt his dad’s hand rubbing circles on his back. Virgil had been spiraling in his head too much to notice his dad scooping him up at first. 

He just grabbed his dad’s blue shirt and shook his head ‘no’ against the solid chest he was leaning against. It was getting harder for him to breathe. He felt his chest tightening as he tried to gasp for air. He was sobbing too hard. All he could feel was his hands going numb. A lump was growing in his throat, as if he had swallowed a golf ball, but it was growing. He was dying. He knew he was dying.

Patton shifted to grab his son's face, but gently. Virgil kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to open them cause more tears would come out. He was still hyperventilating but the pressure on his chest wasn’t as intense.

“Virgil, c’mon buddy, I’ll do it with you. Smell the flower,” they both took in a deep breath, “Good job. Now blooow out the candle.” Virgil did as he was told. 

After a few times of smelling the flower and blowing out the candle, Virgil opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his dad’s soft, warm, brown eyes behind thick glasses. They were filled with concern, but Virgil sighed in relief. Dad was warm. Dad was caring. Dad was safe. 

Virgil wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck. They held the hug for a minute before Virgil’s stomach growled. 

“Okay kiddo. Let’s get you a bandaid and some food. I’ll clean up the mess, don’t sweat it.”

Virgil stood up and made his way to the bathroom where the first aid kit was. When he reached the doorway, he paused. He turned around to say, “I love you, Dad”

Patton smiled warmly at his son. Virgil reminded himself that while he may seem tough and rough and mean to the outside world-there was comfort knowing he had someone as pure and kind for a dad. 

---

As far as Roman was concerned, the first week of school had been a breeze after the first day. He had gotten the hang of his new sleep schedule. He found a way to fit in a quicker, but more effective, face moisturizing routine in the mornings so he could get 10 extra minutes of sleep. He had applied to the theater club- a formality, as this point-and settled into his classes. All of his teachers loved him or tolerated him. His friends still hung around, and he even made a few new ones. 

He was doing great, really. He played the part he needed to. The part everyone needed him to. He was friendly, perfect, and personable. 

So why did he still feel so empty? 

Roman couldn’t quite understand it. Was it that he needed a different schedule? Did he need to put his focus on more creative pursuits? If so, he just started doing theater club, meaning he’ll be able to find his center. 

With his eyebrows crinkled together, contemplating, he walked into his technical theater class. It wasn’t his first choice or backup choice for an elective his senior year, but it didn’t hurt to learn the techie side of things. In fact, it could be useful to him. Theater was his passion. What a better way to become more intimate with the stage than by learning how it all works?

He wasn’t exactly paying attention  to where he was going, so naturally, he suffered the consequences by bumping into the last person on God’s green earth he wanted to run into. 

They both stumbled but the other caught his arms. “Hey, there, handsome. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” 

Roman pushed him off and wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. He was not in the mood for this. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who hasn’t been paying attention!” Roman snapped, a bit more aggressively than he needed to. 

“Ha, we both know that you’re too busy thinking of new ways to get everyone to pay attention to you. How do I know you’re paying attention back for once?” Virgil smirked. 

“Well at least I don’t creep everyone out! You...creepy cookie.” Roman was sputtering. “What’s the deal with the aggression today? I thought we worked out our issues earlier this week!” 

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Of course you thought that. Everyone loves you, right? Well, maybe, for once in your life, consider the idea that I don’t care about you or your popularity.” 

It was a stab to Roman’s heart. He couldn’t understand why this guy was so mean… and so right. However, he had a part to play. He did the only thing he could think of to keep himself from breaking. “Whatever, Jack Smellington,” he snarled out. Then he walked away to join the friends in class he had made. 

“Roman, what was up with you and Emo Nightmare?” one of the girls, Rachel asked.

Roman smiled and tried to shake it off. “Nothing. Just can’t stand the guy. I tried to give him an honest chance on the first day of school but he just can’t stand how popular I am I guess…” Roman took one last glance over his shoulder to see Virgil glaring at him. He turned back to the group and tried to ignore the heat of Virgil’s glare.

Well, if you don’t like me, then I don’t like you.

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Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for this story!

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Part Ten)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader // Slight Natasha x Reader // Slight OC x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Implied Smut, WLW & Bisexuality, Dubious Consent, 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Part Nine / Master List

The party continued on without a hitch. You didn’t miss a thing during your brief absence, just too-expensive champagne and tedious conversation. Another glass of bubbly went down like water, but it did nothing to ease your nerves, even with Tony and Steve bickering about something stupid over comms. You weren’t really paying attention, instead focusing on the large room in front of you. You’d just made your way back downstairs, finally ready to play ball with a couple hundred cartel attendees.

Then a sultry female voice caught your attention, and you froze in place.

“My, my,” she purred, her Spanish sounding sweet as honey to your ears. “What a surprise.”

You swallowed thickly and slowly turned around to face her.

Your target.

She was dressed to the nines, wearing a flowing black gown that accentuated her curves. Draped over her shoulders was a matching shawl, sparkling with diamonds, just like the four-inch designer heels on her feet. She was still absolutely gorgeous despite the darkness you knew she kept locked deep within.

Her pretty red lips curled up into a smile that made your heart race and your stomach turn all at once. Everything you’d ever done for the cartel wasn’t for your father. It was for her.

“Marisol,” you greeted evenly, and the bickering in your ear quieted immediately. Your teammates must have heard you say her name.

“And here I thought you were too good for us,” she told you, this time in perfect, albeit slightly accented English. “With all of your, ah… Avenging. Please give Miss Romanoff my regards.”

She then proceeded to raise her champagne glass just slightly, almost in a toast over toward the blackjack table on the other side of the room. 

That was where you’d last seen Natasha chatting up some millionaires just a couple of minutes prior. When Natasha swore something colourful under her breath, you grit your teeth. She was compromised.

“What do you want?” you hissed, dropping all pretense.

“Why, you, of course,” Marisol responded airily, trailing her perfectly manicured finger down the side of your face. When her thumb traced your lower lip like she’d done it a hundred times before, you shivered because she had. Her touch was entirely too familiar, and you hated that it sparked something within you even now, five years later. “I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Even with her taunting, you kept your head held high. “I haven’t missed you.”

Your remark made her frown at you, before she pulled her hand away, only to rest it on her hip. “Oh? You wound me, Princesa. Does your father know what you’re really up to?”

There it was. Blackmail. Her nasty inner self was starting to show.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you smiled sweetly at her despite how shaken you felt. “And what would that be? This is a fundraiser. I’m raising funds. Aren’t you?”

In Marisol’s warm brown eyes twinkled amusement, but you didn’t miss the danger that flashed within them – nor did you miss it in her tone when she spoke again, “You’re going to come with me, mi amor, or I’ll expose you right here. You must know how suspicious your sudden change of heart has been. Shall we prove it?”

Shit.

It was true that the rest of your father’s lieutenants had been suspicious since your return, and now, there wasn’t anything you could do to prove otherwise. If Marisol knew about Natasha, then she must have had evidence against you, too. You knew her well enough. She was too thorough to make a move without insurance.

You were armed, but there were way too many cartel members in here to risk fighting your way out of this. You were outnumbered, and not only that, but you had Natasha to consider, too. If she was compromised, then she very likely had a target on her back.

As if on cue, a little red glowing dot appeared in the middle of your chest, too, and you didn’t bother trying to locate its source. Instead, you ground out, “Fine. I’ll go with you.”  

Protests from your teammates immediately filled your ear, so loud that you very nearly ripped the device from your ear. Steve and Bucky and Tony were shouting things to you all at once, their voices overlapping each other, but the gist was the same: don’t you dare go, don’t be an idiot, we can handle this, damn it, we just got you back—

You ignored them. The five of you had planned for a potential exposure, but not like this and not by her. Marisol wouldn’t hesitate to use Natasha for target practice. She might hesitate with you, but only long enough to torment you for a moment or two first. Then she’d have someone else pull the trigger. The glowing dot at the top of your cleavage was proof of that.

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

There wasn’t a single thing you could do except go with her. The knowing smirk that came across Marisol’s face made you want to slap her. 

As you followed her and her bodyguards outside, you found Bucky standing at the top of the stairs, watching you – and when you met his eyes, steel blue and full of resolve, you made a point to discreetly remove your comms device from your ear. You knew he noticed it when his lips moved just slightly, likely reporting to the rest of your team what you’d just done. You could only imagine the filthy swears he must have received in response.

The evening breeze was cool and refreshing on your face, but you didn’t care. All you could feel was a deep, dark sense of dread, especially when one of Marisol’s bodyguards opened the door to her shiny black limousine for you like the perfect gentleman. 

Your fingers embedded in the fabric of your gown to hike it up just enough to get inside the limo, but they quickly balled into white-knuckled fists, wrinkling the delicate fabric when you caught a glimpse of Steve in the woods surrounding the mansion. The look on his face – pure, unadulterated betrayal – made the breath hitch in your throat. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look from him, but it hurt just as much. 

In response, you did what you always did. You brushed him off.

With practiced flair, you dipped your head and slid inside. You didn’t notice you’d broken into a nervous sweat until your skin made contact with the plush leather seats; your hands were clammy, and where your gown was hiked up, your exposed legs stuck unpleasantly to the leather.

Tony would very likely tail the limo, but the five of you were still outnumbered. Natasha was probably trapped at the blackjack table with a little red dot in the middle of her chest, and she’d be like that for quite awhile, knowing Marisol. Your father’s favourite, albeit reclusive lieutenant had back-up plans for her back-up plans. She was too smart, too thorough.

This entire night had been a farce. You’d just been too stupid to see it until now.

She’d won.

The ride was quiet. Marisol didn’t talk much, but she didn’t need to. She knew she’d won. You were her spoils.

Regardless, she offered you more champagne which you readily accepted. If nothing else, she’d always been a good hostess, just like you. 

You didn’t want to be sober. You didn’t want to remember the things she’d made you do, let alone what you’d done for her of your own free will. You’d given her every part of yourself, and she’d broken you, shattered you into so many pieces that you’d never be the same.

When she brushed away a few stray strands of hair from your face, you flinched just a little. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slid under your gown and slowly made its way up from your knee to your thigh. She didn’t bring it any higher, but your body reacted the same way it always did with her: with goosebumps and hypersensitivity that you’d once found pleasant.

Even now, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. That was what you hated the most.

“Five years is a very long time,” she whispered, before she reverted to her native Spanish, “but your body still remembers me.”

Her breath was hot against the shell of your ear. She was hard to resist, and even harder to ignore. 

Somehow, you managed to turn your face away. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want her.

Her lips were soft and gentle on your neck, a stark contrast to her otherwise bristly demeanour.

You wanted Bucky. You wanted Steve. You wanted Natasha.

When her hand finally slid higher, you started to dissociate.

You wanted to forget all over again, but you couldn’t. Not this time.

She wouldn’t let you forget. 

She never let you forget.

Part Eleven

[n0ttinghamshad0w]

The Game’s Afoot! || Crime Squad

In which Rob robs the Davis house, with a little help from Andrina, Desoto, and Sarina...

@andrina-the-amazingsupergenius @accendimi @desotosykes

[CW: uh crime? creepy gnomes, slight implied child abuse mention]

Here’s the plan as I’ve got it laid out, yeah? She’s movin’ stuff, I know this, been movin’ things for a while. Not sure why, but judgin’ from all the stuff, I think she’s got a new place and may be rentin’ this place out at one point — anyways, point is that she’s out this weekend, the 27th of July and that’s when we’re goin’ in —

We’ve got the van, picked up a spell from one of the sorcerers in town to make it look like a movers. We’ve got the uniforms. ‘Ts gonna be as simple as walkin’ right up to the front door, only we’ve got Andrina here to disable all the security. Once we’re in, we divide and conquer — one of yas, Sarina, yeah, get to the safe and pick it open. Take whatever else you want — we’ll ditch the van right as we leave, burn the uniforms, and divvy up the stuff to pawn....

ANDRINA: 

Today, after months of planning and foreplay, Andrina was going to help rob Crazy Gnome Lady.

 Fun! 

 She got to wear a super sexy, special crime outfit for the occasion-- a cookie-coloured jumpsuit with a logo stitched to the front advertising MIKE’S MOVERS AND SHAKERS. She had to hand it to Rob; he had really committed to accuracy for replicating the logo down to the terrible Comic Sans font (graphic design was Mike Mover’s passion). Her favourite part of the look was actually the baseball cap, which she threaded her long, curled ponytail through, and used to hide the headset that would let her talk to her version of Oprah’s Book Club-- some hot chick named Sarina, some Italian Mobster transported straight from the set of the Sopranos named DeSoto, and their fearless, foxy leader, Robin Hunt, posing as the infamous Mike Mover himself. 

Important supporting characters included the moving van they’d rented for the occasion, sporting the same logo. 

 Also, the gnomes inside the Crazy Gnome Lady’s house. 

 Phase One began here: parked right in front of the aforementioned target. It still felt slightly counterintuitive to Andy. When Rob had told her they were gonna just roll up to the driveway, she’d raised her eyebrows. You sure you’ve done this before? Shouldn’t we park down the street? Wait for the cover of night? Plan a diversion?

That’s more suspicious, he’d told her and flashed a toothy smile, his confident tipping over to a cockiness Andy found very sexy. The secret to gettin’ away with somethin’, he told her, is to pretend like there’s nothin’ to get away with.

 And so the mid-afternoon sun was their spotlight. It was time for Andrina’s debut. Cue Ashley O’s On a Roll from Andy’s phone hooked up to the aux, and Andy cracked her knuckles and got started. 

 Her laptop pulled up, she clacked her way into Gnome Lady’s wi-fi. “Leeeet’s see….” she said, her tongue edging out against the bottom of her lip as she started to poke around Gnome Bitch’s desktop remotely. While the rest of her daring, dashing crew were going old-school bulgery, she’d get a chance to mine the digital treasure trove for any extra goodies. But for now, she was looking for one thing and one thing only-- 

 “Annnnnd-- disabled,” Andrina chirped as she deactivated Gnome Bitch’s security system.

 The house remained perfect still and silent, a sleeping giant of brick and mortar and ugly beige. 

 Andy flashed her grin at her comrades. “It’s moving day.” 

DESOTO:

This whole thing was kinda strange for Des. Not in the way he’d never done it before. Naw. He’d broken into houses and even stores before when he was a helluva lot younger. And dumber. What was strange was the amount of planning that went into it. The team that was put together and the plan that had been laid out by the man that had contacted him what felt like months ago. It was smart. Brilliant even. And the fact they’d just be… waltzing into the house and taking shit? It made it even better. Maybe he’d have to invest in this sort of crime more often. It was stress free. Stress free crime. Ha.

Dutifully he waited for the okay to head inside, pulling the ball cap he wore down out of instinct. They had the disguise as a moving company but there was still that slight paranoia that made him want to be as unnoticeable as possible. It’s why they’d gotten the gloves, right? An added security measure to further protect their identities if anything happened.

Following the mental map that he’d created as Rob detailed what he would be charged with getting and where exactly it would be, DeSoto made his way through the too goddamn beige house to get to his target. The room was, surprise, beige with pictures of gnomes and pixies and were generally creepy. No matter where Des went in the room it felt like those creepy little eyes were on him, watching every step he took. Were those where the cameras were? Hiding in creepy pictures so that any wrong doer would know intrinsically that they were being watched? Would be crafty of her, honestly. Crafty and creepy. Right up this lady’s alley.

The room itself was huge. Bigger than any one person would need. DeSoto understood the need for space, though. His own room back home had been too large. He’d filled the space with a large bed and then let it get cluttered with a shit ton of things that didn’t exactly matter to him but filled the space. Almost as if he were trying to fill an empty spot within himself. This room felt like that. Though, certainly more like a strange tomb. It smelled of the kind of perfume that made your allergies act up and mothballs. Idly he wondered how he’d drawn this room but pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he began combing through the drawers of the huge vanity. 

Rob had told him that the old broad had a ton of jewelry but he hadn’t anticipated this damn much. Each drawer was filled to the brim with gaudy jewelry that was organized by style. Bracelets, necklaces, rings, those weird things old broad’s wore on their shirts. Obviously he wouldn’t take it all but a good amount would be missing next time she bothered to look at any of this crap. Easily DeSoto began packing shit away, filling the box he’d brought with random expensive looking pieces. They’d get a pretty fucking penny for all this shit and Des wouldn’t have to worry about funding his next batch of drugs for a good while. 

Next was the closet, the smell of mothballs even stronger as he began pulling dress after dress from the hangers they were on. Each was made of exquisite fabric and for a brief moment Des wondered where the hell this bitch wore these clothes. There certainly wasn’t any place in Swynlake that warranted this fashion. Not hat it mattered. He was here for a paycheck, basically.

JELLY:

Jelly had one last job in Swynlake before she left. A job that Sarina had accepted and why not. If she fucked up she would just kick someone's ass and bounce sooner than expected. She was already burning bridges that Sarina had so nothing would follow her. 

And neither would this rag tag group of people she was apparently robbing a house with. She however did admire the plan. Jelly didnt want to deal with them. Let her be alone and make sure Sarina's skills worked in her favour.

She was just sad she didnt wear her heels to listen to the sound of clicking on the hardwood floors as she proved to herself over and over why she was better than all of them.

And this stupid moving uniforms. It was gross. 

That was for another time though as Jelly walked into room. It was impressive. At least until she spotted that creepy ghome. What was with this bitch and Ghomes. For a human she really had a lack of family pictures. Wasnt that a high human thing. To look at your loved ones 24/7. Not that Jelly cared. 

Jelly almost wished she was here just so she could play with the obsession. Make the woman think she was shattering all of them. Actually Jelly would shatter all of them. Let's not lie.

Glancing around the room Jelly walked over to the creepy painting not wasting any time and pulling the thing off the hooks. If there was anything she knew about humans was that they were predictable even on the worse days.

And a safe behind the picture. Yeah that was obvious. Settling in Jelly pulled up to the safe focusing on Sarina's memories without giving the girl a chance to breath instead ripping them from her mind without a concern for the pain she caused her. 

Listen to the locks. Be smooth in your motions. The fact you could insert a wire in the right place to give you better access. It was all there and Jelly loved it. Sarina had to easily be one of her favourite hosts.

It didnt take long for her to have the safe swing open and there was the cash nicely bundled just asking to be taken and as Jelly grabbed it the numbers rang in her mind. 

1000. 

1500.

2000.

3000.

4680.

Not a bad haul for less than half a days work.

ROB:

He’d let his two accomplices handle the bulk of the haul. He dinnit care what they took, s’long as they weren’t stupid (and he knew they weren’t stupid — Sarina’d done this before and before, and Desoto had a stake in stayin’ in the town so he wouldn’t fuck up). While they plundered, Rob idlly walked through the halls of the house.

He was on the hunt, you see, but not for money or jewels or any of the stuff he’d promised Sarina and Desoto (he’d promised Andrina the thrill of the chase, and out of everyone, he hoped she got what she was after). Nah, you see, Rob was lookin’ for something else. 

Normally, see, he’d take something — a mug that said Number One Dad from a dad who dinnit deserve it; a mother’s flask tucked away under a pillow; gambling stubs; a belt used for punishment —

But this house was barren. There wasn’t a single indication that Mrs. Davis even had kids, let alone two, let alone one of the kindest souls Rob had ever known, let alone a boy buried in the ground.

Nothing he could take that would remind her of what she’d done.

As he walked by the fireplace, he glanced at the garish modern paintings on the mantle and the thought occured to him. 

He reached in his pocket, pullin’ out the photograph Tuck had given him, smoothin’ out the edges. It was a young Mrs. Davis, her first husband, and Tuck as a baby — already Mrs. Davis’ face was stern and she held her baby at a distance. This’d been taken a few months before they decided they dinnit want him. He’d been left unceremoniously on the doorstep of the orphanage, as if Mrs. Davis were some woman in a Victorian nove dying of a wastin’ disease.

Rob wasn’t sure how she got from Nottingham to here, wasn’t sure what she told everyone happened to the first kid.

What he did know was that she left Tuck. She left Tuck and she had another kid and she dinnit even remember that her son was dead, dinnit even act like he existed —

He didn’t want to leave the photo, the only thing of Tuck he had, but there was a spot open on the mantelpiece. 

With a gloved hand, he smoothed out the creases and left it right on the empty space. 

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

6. This means war a. k. a. a butcher knife, an interrogation and a battlefield (Part Two)

“Okay, guys don’t forget the rules!” Eric turns back to us entering the bar. “No nudity!” he takes a meaningful look at Mike who glances around whistling and pretends not to understand what Eric refers to.

“What?” Judy whispers with a terrified expression.

“Haha, I’ll explain it later.” I lean to her ears and the smell of her hair makes me feel dizzy immediately.

“And Stone, please don’t talk to strangers otherwise we all die here…”

“Seriously, why? I think I’m cool. Mankind isn’t intellectually developed enough to understand my humor…”

“Oh yeah, maybe after the extinction of human species you’ll be able to make a career as a stand-up comedian…” Judy remarks cracking me and the other members of the company around her up.

“What? What’s so funny?” Stone inquires impatiently. He’s obviously not used to the role of the target; usually it is him who makes fun of the others.

“Nothing. I was just worrying about the future of mankind.” Judy deadpans causing more cackle around her and a perceptible blush on Stone’s cheeks.

I head straight for the pool tables with Stone and Dave while Mike and our roads choose to explore the pinball machines. Eddie, Beth and Karrie decide to order our drinks at the counter and the only one left at the door is Judy. She’s turning her head helplessly hesitating who to join.

“Hey Judy, do you want to play?” I call her pointing at her with the pool cue.

“I… I can’t play, I’ve only tried two or three times in my life and I always sucked…” she explains making a few insecure steps in our direction.

“Then we shouldn’t force her. So let’s play!” Stone grabs the other cue with a quick move and turns his back on her.

“But if she played we could form two teams and play against each other. Judy, it is high time you practiced!” Dave argues.

“I like the idea. Judy, you’re with me, I’ll explain the rules to you and help with the moves.” I volunteer to have an excuse for staying next to her as long as possible.

“The main goal of the game is to hit the white ball into any of the holes…” Stone grins in front of himself while chalking the tip of his cue stick. I should have known that… he won’t leave her alone until he manages to rile her up.

“Oh, yeah, thanks for considering me a stupid caveman but I have some faint ideas about the rules...“ she rolls her eyes and folds her arms. I’ve already observed this defensive reaction of hers; feeling danger she immediately pulls back into her shell. I have to work against that because it doesn’t fit my plan.

“Birds of a feather flock together…” Stone mutters. What a douche… Judy can’t know that calling me a caveman is Stone’s favorite habit to emphasize his assumed intellectual superiority to me. Or to anyone else.

“Okay, Judy, the first turn is yours…” I rather focus on my project handing her the stick. And I have to admit she was right about her abilities… She hits the white ball only for the third attempt and due to her effortless strike it misses every other one in its surrounding.

“That’ll be a looong game… If I had known that I would have brought dry food and fluids enough for three days. And a sleeping bag.” Stone comments Judy’s performance, which probably doesn’t help her collecting some confidence for the next round but I see a strange fire in her look, this time she doesn’t seem to be bothered by Stone’s usual show.

“Stone, if you shut up at least for a few seconds you could notice that I’m ensuring our winning position…“ Dave warns him and targets the plain blue ball.

“I support you spiritually, can you feel my mental power radiating on you?” Stone smirks.

“Yes, unfortunately I can…” Dave rights himself after his first fault.

“I knew you would be good together.” I take the cue from Judy and lean on the table. Fuck, my hands are sweating; I chose the wrong game… “Ah, shit.” My hand slips so Stone gets a chance to support their team in a physical way too. He plays well, I must admit, he’s maybe the best player of us. It’s forgivable since in exchange for that he’s the clumsiest at any other sports.

“Look, Judith, this is how big boys do it…” Stone winks at her between two hits. I don’t like that wink. I want to be the only one who’s entitled to wink at her. Judy watches him playing with a disappointed grimace and I use the occasion to throw one arm around her shoulder and stroke her upper arm to comfort her. To my biggest surprise in the next moment Stone doesn’t manage to strike the ball, which I don’t really understand as he wasn’t disturbed by anyone or anything… But who cares, at least we have one more chance to win. Judy prepares for her round awkwardly measuring the angles and distances and I can’t help taking advantage of the situation.

“Okay, Judy, I think you should focus on that one, over there…” I lean close to her and carefully direct her arm in the right direction. Can I feel goosebumps on her skin? Yes, hell, she…

Stone interrupts my silent joy with a loud yawn checking theatrically his wristwatch. Judy reacts with a start moving away from the direction in which I positioned her and hits the white ball in the corner hole opposite us. I slap myself mentally for forgetting about her extremely wide personal space… In the meantime Dave finishes the game with a few perfect hits; he digs into his pocket for his cigarette and high-fives with Stone using his other hand.

“May I?” Stone points at the package. To Dave’s nodding he helps himself and sticks the cigarette into his mouth.

“Does he smoke?” Judy asks half-whispering leaning closer to my ears with a disgusted and almost disappointed frown. I can’t figure out why she’s so surprised at Stone’s smoking habits but I don’t really care since I don’t smoke, maybe that can be a pro if smoking is a turnoff for her…

“Not really… only occasionally… you know… when he’s nervous or stressed out or when he has problems… or when he just wants to play the cool guy.”

“I don’t understand.” Judy furrows her eyebrows.

“You know, he’s a social and stress smoker, he just shows off with it.” I explain but I doubt this whole topic deserves so much explanation.

“That’s what I don’t understand. You said he smoked occasionally… but based on everything you’ve just listed he should be a chainsmoker, huh?” she grins at me and in the next second we both giggle and I really enjoy the fact that neither Dave and Stone nor the others arriving back from the counter know why we’re choking. She has been so much more outgoing and talkative today, she talked at the party more than in the last three days in all and I can only hope it has something to do with me too. And I really like that change in her behavior and maybe that’s a sign… I mean… I have nothing to lose… yes, I’m going to make the first step. Hell, I’m going to do that.

***

“So that’s all what you have to know about Mike’s nudist tendencies.” Jeff finishes the story about Mike’s disastrous striptease in Rotterdam and at a few afterparties.

“Uh, it’s a lucky coincidence that I’ve just finished my beer. My brain cells responsible for visual imagination are screaming for mercy, I don’t know how they would react without some alcohol.” I rub my forehead. I can already feel the mild dizziness which usually strikes after having had my second beer, I should slow down before I start talking bullshit… I must be grinning like an idiot… I don’t want to end up in sleeping on his shoulder; he would probably misunderstand my habit of using anyone next to me as a pillow at the peak of my tipsiness. It’s quite awkward but at least falling asleep prevents me from getting totally wasted which has never happened to me, anyway… Although I wish it had happened, maybe it would have helped in certain situations.

We’re sitting in a box with Karrie, Dave is playing a next pool game with Mike against Brett and Scully while Smitty and Eric are analyzing their performance impersonating television commenters. I don’t know where Eddie, Beth and our fuckin’ joker are hiding but at least I have some rest, I’ve heard enough of his asshole remarks this evening. Despite having smoked weed he doesn’t really seem to be high, maybe he snickers more often at his own jokes than usual although it’s something that’s hard to escalate.

“Hey, Judy Camden!” I hear Eddie calling me in his irresistible voice the second time this evening. I turn my head around and glance them finally at a foosball table in the corner. Foosball… I have a soft spot for it, although the last time I played was ages ago. “Judy Camden! We need one more player so would you move your aaaaaah… ahem, Beth there’s no need to kick me to death, so Judy, would you move your… graceful legs?”

Foosball… but spending more time with that cretin than inevitably necessary? Foosball… that insufferable, caustic piece of garbage… Foosball… Foosball… Foosball… Maybe I could show what I can…

“I’m coming!” I chirp and try to moderate myself not to run to them. On arriving I notice that Eddie and Beth are standing next to each other on the same side of the table and the vacant position is the one beside Stone.

“I want to be with Beth.” I decline dipping my hands in my pockets.

“A girls versus boys match? Uh… Are you sure?” Eddie furrows his eyebrows with that typical, curious expression including those heart-shaped lips, shit, could you just stop, Edward?

“I’m just saying: playing against me equals instant and humiliating defeat.” Stone rubs his hands against each other and starts to spin the sticks in front of him back and forth as warm-up.

“Same for me playing with you. Or do you think that being busy with crafting ideas how to cut the throat of your teammate is a safe winning strategy?” I ask still waiting for Ed leaving Beth’s side.

“That makes sense…” Stone admits scratching his chin.

“What’s more, these two have been together for eight…”

“Nine…” they correct me simultaneously.

“…nine years, separating them would only increase our chances.” I throw in my final argument.

“You mean my chances.” Stone corrects me.

“Stone, you shouldn’t be overconfident, you haven’t…”

“Come on, Ed, I’ve seen her playing pool. And foosball tables don’t belong to the usual equipment of convents, I guess…”

I decide not to answer and luckily neither Beth nor Eddie wants to react to his umpteenth, farfetched joke about my assumed relation to the Catholic Church.

“Let’s play finally, girlpower, woohoo!” Beth screams and pushes Eddie away with her hip signaling he should join the opposite team. Judging from her behavior she’s already quite far from soberness and probably she won’t be the most cooperative and useful teammate of all times but if I manage to follow my plan that won’t be a huge problem.

As all of us take our places Beth drops the ball on the table. It lands right at my midfield row so it takes me only one move to shot it right in the goal of the opposite team before Stone and his goalkeeper foosman could realize we’re already playing.

“Eheh… beginners’ luck… I’m a foosball virgin.” I snicker putting accent on the last word and pull the plastic cube towards me, signaling our first score.

“What was that pathetic, fake throw-in? Beth, at least try to pretend not to be cheating…” Stone complains.

It’s Eddie’s turn to throw the ball onto the table. Beth’s foosman passes the ball to mine and I dribble it a few times back and forth between my rows before shooting it into the hole right next to the paralyzed goalkeeper of Stone. Beth and I high-five while Stone is checking his sticks; obviously he can’t believe that everything works fine apart from his reflexes.

“Okay, Ed, get your shit together before it’s too late!” he commands to the perplexed Eddie.

“What the fuck are you talking about? The ball hasn’t even got to my side…”

“That’s exactly the problem, Ed.”

“And whose fault is that, smartass?”

Failure generated internal conflict. Perfect… Due to my turn at throw-in I can only use my left hand, which makes me lose the ball; encouraged by his sudden chance Stone tries to perform some tricks with it but being overly excited he manages to spin his defense row in the wrong direction hitting the ball. Own goal. Instant and humiliating defeat for whom? Beth and I burst out in a loud scream.

“Three-zero. I’ve got my shit together, what about yours?” Ed asks reproachfully but his voice is barely to hear over our cheering. It’s so much easier than I thought.

“What’s the matter? I can only hear that these two women are fuckin’ loud.” Mike cranes his neck behind me to see the result.

“Nothing particular, Judy is just wiping the floor with us.” Eddie tries to answer and defend their goal from Beth’s attack at the same time.

“And what about me?” Beth asks feistily and shots goal in the moment she utters “me”.

“Nice shot, teammate!” I exclaim and reach out my arm to high-five with her again.

“Time-out, I have to fix my hair.” Stone declares forming a “T” letter with his hands.

“Oh, hair crisis? ‘Course, I totally understand it, that’s the worst.” I pretend sympathy and Beth chokes on her beer, probably of mere sympathy as well.

He tears the scrunchie out of his half-ponytail with a nervous move and holds it between his lips while putting his hair up in the same style again. I have to admit he’s quite fortunate as for his hair, thick, dark brown, with hints of natural curls…

“But Stone, now you look exactly the same as before…” Mike remarks innocently but seeing Stone’s cold gaze his voice gets more and more silent and he finishes the sentence basically only mouthing.

“Good look restored?” I ask with an amused smile but somehow Stone doesn’t seem to appreciate my attentiveness.

“Too much talk.” he throws in the ball.

“Are you sure you don’t need more time? I would tolerate it, after all, we shot four goals whereas you…” I try to chat while our foosmen are battling for the ball.

„Come on then.”

„What?”

„Have at you!” Wait, the Black Knight?

„You are indeed brave, Sir knight, but the fight is mine.” I cite the next sentence of the classic scene of Monty Python’s Holy Grail to check if my guess was right.

„Oh, had enough, eh?” Bingo, the Black Knight. Spinal Tap a few days ago, now this… At least the guy has a taste as for comedies.

„Look, you stupid bastard, you've got no arms left.” I go on catching the ball. This time I decide to torture him longer before the next strike; I spin the stick slowly and carefully to lift the ball balancing it on one of my foosmen.

“If you hit the goal I’m going to dress up as Liberace at Halloween, I swear…” Mike mutters.

“You can start searching for accessories, Mike.” I wink at him and spin on the stick a bit to reach the perfect angle; after finding it I drop the ball with a quick move over Stone’s defender foosmen right into the goal.

“That can’t be true.” he lets the sticks go with an effortless moan and reaches for his beer mechanically, not even glancing at the glass.

“This is my best birthday ever!” Mike punches in the air. “Hey, guys, you won’t believe what happened…” I hear him yelling excitedly as he runs back to the pool table.

“Uhm… do you want to continue defeating me instantly, in a humiliating way or can we finish the match at this point?” I flash a dark grin at my perished opponent.

“We can finish… or… whatever…” His look is definitely darker than my grin; he doesn’t even say a word to Eddie before leaving for the boxes.

“He’s pouting, but don’t worry, it won’t last long. Actually, I didn’t know either he could be so… uhm… competitive…” Eddie explains while we’re following Stone.

“But maybe he finallllly ack… acknow…ledges your abbbilllities…” Beth adds hiccupping.

As we reach the box I slip onto the seat taking place opposite Stone who blatantly avoids any form of communication with us. Beth drops herself next to me and grabs immediately the drink menu.

“Look Eddie, they have cock…tails… haha, get it, I invented a new joke… cock tail-cocktail! Oh… If I had known that… I want a cocktail…”

“Babe, you shouldn’t… you’ve drunken enough today…” Ed strokes her hair tucking a few unruly strands with gentles moves behind her ear . Lucky girl…

“Just one cocktail…”she nuzzles to his stomach.

“Beth…”

“Please…”

“Okay then... But only one cocktail, I choose and if you look sick I’m going to drink it.” he sighs glancing at the ceiling.

“I wanna drink something with llllime… lllime isss sooo good…” she clings to Eddie and they start walking slowly towards the counter. What? Eddie… hey Eddie… you can’t leave me here with this unbearable, cocky, assertive bastard… Eddie… please turn back… I don’t want to act desperate and flee from him but I don’t have any clue how I could spend these impossibly long minutes in his company either … long minutes because time seems to slow down, so much time has passed since they left but they haven’t even reached the counter… And I got stuck here… Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you and I'm wondering what it is I should do… Fuckin’ earworm… Great…

***

“Hi guys!” I plop down next to Judy.

“Hi!” Judy sighs.

“Hmmk…” Stone mumbles, I can only guess it’s his brand new welcome ritual since he keeps his look on his beer glass. I steel a glance at Judy to see she’s studying the menu intensely and then I peep back at Stone who still seems to be totally lost in his beer tag.

“Oh, that’s a good one, I myself have read it multiple times too…” I joke trying to ease the tense, pointing and nodding at the glass since the silence starts getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, I can imagine, you have a whole fucking library at home…” Stone remarks bored and I hear a quiet sneeze or snicker from the direction of Judy, I can’t decide which one and if it was a snicker I can’t decide either which of us made her laugh. They both fall silent again and their eyes keep demonstratively avoiding each other.

“Seriously, what’s up, chatterboxes?” I make a second attempt to start a conversation but the spleenish vibe around them makes me feel like a bull in a china shop.

“Actually, we tried to chat, y’know, but we gave it up, we couldn’t help cutting each other off.” Judy shrugs still gazing the menu and as I peer at Stone again I would swear I catch a little twitch on the corner of his mouth, maybe a smile? I’ll never figure it out since it disappears in a blink.

“How come you haven’t mentioned until now what a great foosball player you are?” I keep talking to avert the awkward silence; they’re still not willing to acknowledge each other’s presence.

“It’s Cheap Trick’s fault.” Judy remarks shrugging casually again.

“Cheap Trick? I love them and I’m convinced they’re omnipotent but what do they have to do with your foosball talent?”

“My sister… Effie… she loves them too. But they didn’t really come to our area and Effie was dying to see them live...”

“I can totally relate to her, I spent my teenage years completely Cheap Trickless too…” I nod agreeing.

“When she was fourteen or fifteen she decided to follow them wherever they play and they were playing in Wisconsin, y’know, basically at the other end of the country. One day she stormed into my room in tears, claiming Mom and Dad didn’t allow her the journey even with me. Because I have to mention she dragged my name into the discussion without asking me, as always…”

“Poor girl…” I shake my head.

“The poor girl was weeping to me for days before cautiously dosing me the idea of running away for a few days to see them. She planned everything, she wanted to use Karrie as an alibi telling we travel to visit her in her home in Sacramento.” she explains.

“And did you really sneak out? Did you attend the Cheap Trick gig?” I interrogate her excitedly.

“We did. I mean, we did follow them, we did see Cheap Trick and they were awesome…” she confirms but it’s obvious that there must be a twist in the story.

“…but? I can feel there was a “but” in that constellation.”

“But by the time we got back home our parents had already been out of their mind…”

“Ouch. Did they find it out?”

“Yes. Since poor Karrie called them and asked them about us innocently…”

“Nooo… did she forget…?” I gasp shocked.

“Hahaha, no, she’s one of the best allies in the world. She didn’t even know about her being our alibi. Effie was so busy with the execution of her plan that she forgot to inform the involved people…”

“I would lie if I said that has never happened to me…” I wrinkle my nose. “That was some story but I still don’t know the reason of your exceptional foosball skills.” I drum with my fingers on the table.

“After the case we got sentenced to a two week-long house arrest and household chore session. I mean not for running away to the show but for not being honest to our parents. I didn’t really care about the punishment since going nowhere and enjoying my own company was my favorite spare time activity at that time but Effie was inconsolable. Our main task was to clean up the cellar, to sort our old stuffs for the next garage sale, you know, all those usual things. But on the very first day we found Dad’s old foosball table of which existence we hadn’t even known. You can imagine how efficiently we worked after that discovery…”

“So I assume you didn’t manage to clean up the cellar but became professional foosball players…”

“Sort of. But do you know what’s the funniest in the story?” She goes on seeing that I shake my head. “Effie didn’t even ask our parents if they’d let us travel to Wisconsin. Effie just decided they wouldn’t allow it anyway; and probably she also wanted to get into an exciting adventure she could tell later to her grandchildren in the rest of her life…” she sums up fidgeting with the ashtray.

“I can only repeat, I agree with her… I mean… we only live once, life is short, carpe diem and imagine here at least three further clichés about living for the moment, but they make sense, if you hesitate too much one day you’ll realize life ran past you.”

“Oh, philosophical moments with ‘Cready? The spiritual side of the lead guitarist?” she giggles.

“The ironical side of the future monitor engineer?” I fire back. “But it was a good story, thanks for sharing it, I’d be glad if I could met your sister one day, as you described her she seems like a very interesting personality…”

“You know what’s interesting, Mike?” Stone suddenly joins the conversation with a rhetoric question and something in his voice tells me that the peaceful part of this chat is over. “That there are people who haven’t even heard about modesty and make the others around them admire their abilities even if they are totally average after all.” he goes on. I knew he was up to something, Stone never listens to anyone speechless for so long time without any specific reason.

“Mike, have I mentioned to you which personality type I hate the most?” Judy turns with an inquiring expression to me. “I think of those people who criticize the others all the time but don’t even realize they’re actually talking about themselves. Wait, no, I hate more those stuck-up poseurs who are always showing off displaying their actual or imagined skills but in the moment someone is better than them they start pouting like a three-year-old and don’t even try to bear their fiasco with dignity!” I duck my head as if their words could physically hit me. Oh man, that’s tough. My grandpa used to tell me stories about his experiences at the European front line during World War II but I never listened to him properly. I should have done so because I feel as if I was standing in the middle of a battlefield and grenades and cannon balls were whizzing around me.

“And what about those people who use their family ties to achieve something and then play the innocent lamb when someone confronts them with the truth?” Stone keeps firing but he’s still looking at me as if he was addressing me with his pretended question.

“Imagine, Mike, there are even fuckin’ psychos who attack other people in their beds and talk shit about them behind their back!” Judy is already yelling and beats against the table with her fist while saying “back”.

“You see, Mike, the chick talks to stuffed animals and licks knives but I’m the psycho, excellent, congrats…” Stone claps his hands mockingly a few times.

“That’s enough, I’m not willing to listen to this bullshit any longer!” Judy fumes and basically kicks me out of the seat to get a free way. But Stone is faster, by the time she reaches the corner of the box he slips out with a quick move and jumps in front of her making her start back. The guy has a sense of dramaturgy; the picture of the tiny Judy gasping furiously with clenched fists and his smirking down at her taking advantage of his lanky figure reminds me of those cartoon scenes where the amused Tom is torturing the raging Jerry a bit before throwing him onto a pan.

“You know what, Stone? Let’s clear a few things, okay? A: I’m not catholic, I’m not even baptized. B: The vocational school of substitute music teachers I attended was actually Juilliard, for your information. And C: for two years, two months and fourteen days I haven’t been daddy’s little girl anymore, however much I want to be. Do you want to insult me? Fine. But please do me a favor and at least try to do the job properly by getting to know me at first because your random attempts are nothing but pathetic.” she spits scornfully and leaves declaring the debate is over. Stone doesn’t turn after her, only his smug grin grows a little bit wider.

“Challenge accepted.” he clicks satisfied with his tongue.

[twistedrunes]

Shirts: Alfie

This is the fifth of the short stories I am writing based on the prompt above.

Arthur

Tommy

Michael

John

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493077

Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst and language (NSFW)

“What’s up, pup?” The familiar rumble of Alfie Solomons rich voice fills your ear. Even over the phone, you can picture the quirked eyebrow he gave you when he spoke. You groan at his insistence at using the nickname he’d given you when you were both children when Alfie was best mates with your older brother. The older brother you had adored. The older brother you followed around everywhere, like a pup. Thirteen-year-old Alfie and your brother had found this wildly amusing. Alfie still did apparently.

“Hello to you too, Mr Dull-ole-man” You quip back. An insult, which as eleven-year-old you had found amazingly witty and cutting. To be fair, you hadn’t improved on it in the years since.

Alfie chuckles, “Fuck, if that’s isn’t getting truer by the day.” He laments his moniker.

“Something I can help you with Alfie?” You ask lightly ignoring his melancholy. “I’ve got an appointment in fifteen minutes.”

“Right. Yeah.” Alfie clears his throat. You roll your eyes at his discomfort with any reference to your work. “You free on the 20th? Blind Children’s Charity Dinner.” His voice now all business. Your occupation, a source of friction between you for a long time.

“Hold on.” You say flicking your diary to the date in question. “Yeah, that’s fine. You’ll send a car?”

“Yeah, me or Ollie ’ll come get ya. Seven o’clock alright?”

“Perfect.” You respond hesitating, mostly to cause Alfie some discomfort, before continuing “You want the whole night?” You tease.

“Eh, eh.” A noise, a mixture of a laugh and discomfort warms your ear. You can hear the static as Alfie’s fingers work the hair on his chin scratching it against the mouthpiece, picturing the glint in his eye and the cheeky grin on his face. “Yeah, all night.” He pauses briefly to allow you to respond; you stay quiet. “Been a while since we’ve seen each other ain’t it?”

“Too long.” You reply fondly.

                                          —————————–

On the surface, the pair of you had a business relationship. You provided Alfie with a companion to attend functions with, someone, pleasant to look at, who could make easy conversation and be witty and delightful on cue. Someone, so he wasn’t alone and at risk of being paired off with any available young Jewish woman within spitting distance. Someone, no one would even consider him having any kind of relationship with, beyond the services people assumed he was paying for. This assumption meaning you would never be considered as a potential target for his enemies. In truth, it was more complicated.

For starters, you never charged Alfie. He’d tried to pay you the first time when he’d picked you up on the side of the road, and you’d ended up in bed together. The combination of grief and familiarity driving you into each other’s arms. 

Back long before you had an established escort business. Back just after the war when you turned tricks on the side of the road to keep food in your belly and a roof over your head. The sharp slap across his face had made it abundantly clear how you had felt about the stack of notes on the bedside when you woke the next morning.

It hadn’t been an accident that he’d found you. He and James had been more than friends, but partners who were working their way up, or down depending on your point of view, the criminal underworld of London. He’d come looking when he came home from France. Knowing you were alone, and that James had been killed not even six months into the war. He had felt compelled to look after his best mates little sister.

He’d tried to employ you in the bakery more than once. Tried to marry you once too. But you’d always been willful and didn’t want to be dependent on anyone. Especially someone like Alfie who in building his empire seemed to be in permanent danger of getting dead. You had looked after yourself during the long years while the war dragged on and the hungry six months after when hardly anyone was willing to pay for sex. When the euphoria that the war was over seemed created a rampant desire in men and women alike causing them all to disregard any notion of how ‘nice’ people behaved.

                                         —————————– 

On the nineteenth, you are not surprised when a package is delivered to your house. Alfie always sent you clothes to wear when you escorted him. Often jewellery and other accessories as well. Not surprised but still excited, you hurry it to the kitchen table before ripping off the brown paper. You sigh happily as you pull the beautiful gown from the box. As always far more demure than anything you would typically wear, but it was still stunning. Deep burgundy satin embroidered with what must have been thousands of beads and sequins, it was high necked, full length with capped sleeves. Beautiful but still appropriate enough to wear in front of Alfie’s conservative acquaintances. A row of jewel-like buttons ran down the back, from the top of the neck to the bottom of the bodice. You made a mental note to allow more time for dressing; such fiddly fastenings were going to take time.

Gifts of friendship Alfie called them. The dresses, jewellery, perfumes and other trinkets he brought you when you escorted him. You had pointed out to him on more than one occasion that the gifts far exceeded what you would charge for an evening or even overnight. 

The first gift of friendship had arrived the day after you had slapped him for trying to pay you. A basket of bread and an assortment of fruit, vegetables and meat along with milk and cheese. Apparently impossible to get, unless it seemed you were Alfie Solomons. A gift that had been delivered weekly for the three months following. A gift you weren't too proud to admit had kept the wolves from the door and you from starving to death. Over the years as starvation became less of a risk and Alfie’s empire grew the gifts became less practical and more lavish.

                                         —————————– 

“So you coming back to mine?” Alfie asks as he holds open the car door.

“I booked out the night for you as we agreed.” You tease.

“Well thank you, sweetie. Very kind of you that is. I know how in demand you are.” He teases back.

You slide over and tuck yourself under his arm as he starts the car, enjoying the familiar comfort of his touch. “I’ll always make time for you Alfie.”

Alfie smiles at you, dropping a kiss on your forehead, before pulling you more tightly against him. “Thanks for coming tonight. It wasn’t too boring was it?” He asks.

“No, I mean I could listen to Mrs March talk about moral decay for hours.” You say with an exaggerated groan and eye roll, as you slip your shoes off, tucking your feet up under you.

You choose not to tell him about the snide comments directed at yourself and him whenever he was out of earshot. It had taken all of your strength not to punch the two-faced women happy enough to take Alfie’s considerable donations but still not willing to see him as anything beyond a murderous gangster. You had never known the supposedly violent and unstable man Alfie was rumoured to be. With you, he had only ever been kind and gentle. Pup the closest thing to an unkind word ever to pass his lips. You weren’t stupid you knew the rumours and probably more were true, but you knew he was much more.

Alfie chuckles “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that pup. But business innit.”

“Such interesting things she told me,” You say your voice light, your hand brushing against his chest.

“Mm, like what?” Alfie replies cautiously, wondering where this was going.

“Well, did you know Alf, that cars are a leading cause of corruption in today’s society?”

Alfie snorts “And how’s that then?”

“Well all these fancy young men with their flashy cars, go out and pick up ladies of the night.” You grin, slipping your hand along the inside of Alfie’s thigh and up to his crotch, palming over the firmness already there. “Sometimes they even have sex with them in their cars.” You look up at him, eyes wide in mock shock.

“Is that so?” Alfie muses, his fingers caressing your hip.

“Yep.” You say popping the fastenings on his pants and guiding him free of his boxers. “Mm.” You hum in satisfaction at how quickly he hardens in your hand as you fondle him.

“Careful, love. Don’t want us crashing into a tree do ya?” Alfie’s says his voice heavy.

You reposition yourself and flick your tongue over the head of his cock.

“Sweetie, please.” Alfie sighs, his fingers pulling the combs holding your hair in place free, causing your hair to tumble around your face.

“Okay.” You say, moving as if to stop, but instead, you open your mouth and take him completely.

Alfie’s hips buck with a cry of “Fuck!” His hand plunging into your hair, fingers curling, pulling the silken tresses into his palm.

You swallow. Alfie tugs at your hair in a half-hearted attempt at getting you to stop. You simply allow him to pull you up, you hollow your cheeks, before teasing your tongue over the tip. Eliciting a low growl from somewhere in Alfie’s chest, which continues as you slide back down his length.  

From this angle you can’t take him completely, so you wrap your hand around him, caressing the parts of him you can’t take in your mouth. You bob your head, sucking and slurping happily. Alfie’s hand continues working in your hair, alternating between caressing your neck with his fingertips and gently pulling your hair. An action guaranteed to make you moan. In your periphery, you can see his hand on the steering wheel, knuckles white with the effort of concentration. You begin to bob faster, creating more suction with your mouth as you do so. Your hand slides down, fingertips caressing his balls. You feel them tighten and Alfie’s back start to arch. You stop. “Wait.” You instruct.

“No,” Alfie says firmly, pulling the car over to the verge and breaking hard. You nearly slide off the seat, but Alfie catches you. Holding you under your arms as he pulls you into his lap, with your back to his chest. He reefs your skirt up, his hands fly to your hips, expecting to find underwear to remove; finding nothing, he groans a string of curses and praises. His hand slides between your legs. You’re already wanting, his fingers finding your wetness easily. He eagerly spreads you, your head dropping back as he finds your clit.

Using the steering wheel for support you lift yourself, resting your shins on the seat, parallel with Alfie’s thighs for leverage. Alfie’s fingers explore you again before he rubs himself against you. Sighing as he glides over you easily. You lower yourself slightly as he presses against your entrance. You both grunt as he pushes into you. You moan happily as you rock your hips feeling him open you. Both of you stay still for a moment, enjoying the sensation.

Alfie’s arm wraps under your arm, fingers grazing your throat, holding you against him as he thrusts up into you, setting a steady rhythm. You lean back against him, shivering as his beard scratches against your neck. Your eyes flutter closed as his lips caress the skin above the high collar of the dress. You arch your back as his hands come to your breasts, engulfing them. He mutters slightly at their constriction in the dress but hums in pleasure as your nipples harden against his palms, straining against the fabric. 

Your hand rises to the back of his neck, fingers grabbing handfuls of hair. You can feel the pressure building in you, hips lifting in your own rhythm. Alfie adjusts, matching you, his hand sliding down your front to between your legs. The coolness of the metal on his fingers and wrist shock you as he begins rubbing your clit in time with your thrusts. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as you peak. You fall forward as you crash through your orgasm, hands gripping the steering wheel. Alfie’s hands grab your hips as he thrusts into you, your tightening walls pulling his own orgasm from him.

Alfie holds you back against his chest kissing your cheek “Been too fucking long.” He says as he lifts you off him. You moan a little as he slides out of you. He settles you back on the seat, and you shuffle to pull your dress back down. Alfie watches, chewing on his bottom lip. “You been a bit hard up love?” He asks as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “Can’t afford knickers.” He teases.

You turn to face him, hand cupping his cheek and smoothing his beard “Figured they’d just slow things down.”

Alfie’s eyes sparkle as he tucks himself away, giving only a little nod that he had heard you. He starts the car and pulls back onto the road, his arm holding you against him for the duration of the trip home.

                                         —————————– 

“For fuck’s sake!” Alfie cries fingers fumbling with the delicate buttons on the back of your dress.

You can’t help but laugh seeing the frustration on his face in the mirror in front of you. “Well, you chose it.”

“A fucking mistake an’ all. It’s not a fucking dress, is it? Fucking chastity belt it is. Should come with a fucking warning; the man with the woman wearing this dress will die of fucking blue balls before he can fucking get it off ‘er.” He rants.

You laugh harder, you hand reaching up behind you to find only four of the buttons undone. “We managed without taking it off before.” You say turning and running your hand over his naked chest. Your lips finding his collarbone.

“Yeah well, that’s all fucking good in the fucking car. But now I need those beautiful tits of yours out so I can give ‘em the attention they deserve right?” He turns you, attempting the next button again. You’re still laughing, so the button slips through his fingers. “And you can stop laughing an’ all” he grunts. You attempt to turn around again “Fucking stand still.” He roars, grabbing your waist and lifting you from the floor, propelling you to the bed. He tosses you onto the mattress face down. He climbs on top of you, straddling your hips holding you in place. He continues struggling with the buttons for another minute. Before, with a roar of frustration, he grabs the two sides ripping them apart. Buttons fly around the room like machine gun fire, pinging off all the surfaces and scuttling across the timber floor.

“Alfie!” You cry into the mattress.

“Well, that’s, that then.” He says standing again and flipping you onto your back before peeling the fabric down your torso to your waist, slipping it down over your hips. He pauses for a moment, admiring the sight of your bare chest, skimming his fingers over you. Before returning his attention to his nemesis, grabbing handfuls of the skirt, he whips it down your legs and tosses the entire thing in the corner. He nods in satisfaction pushing his pants and boxers to his ankles. “Now that’s fucking better innit?” He says rubbing his cock as his eyes run over you wolfishly.

“Alfie!” You say crossly, sitting up, hands behind you for support. “You’ve destroyed that dress. How the hell will I get home tomorrow? I’ll be fucking arrested!”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that love,” he says fingers running along your jaw as he trails off, skimming his fingers down your neck to your chest, pushing you gently back against the mattress. He positions himself above you, kissing you tenderly, his mouth working along your jaw, down your neck, continuing over your chest before sucking your nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck.” You cry as the sensation travels through you like a bolt of lightning.

You feel Alfie smile against you, his hand kneading one breast while his mouth works the other. He swaps over after a minute, his beard reddening your chest as he continues. Your fingers work into his hair and scratch at his back as he continues. “Alfie,” you moan reaching for his cock.

“Wait,” He grunts, removing his mouth only long enough to issue the instruction. But he changes position slightly and trails his hand between your thighs. Your back arches, wantonly forcing his hand in contact with you. He keeps his hand obstinately still. Your hand rests over his, guiding his fingers where you want them. Alfie lifts his head, meeting your eye. “Sorry, love I’m no good with buttons.” He says, smirking and eyes flashing as he presses his palm to the mattress between your legs.

Your head rolls back as you groan. “Bastard.” You grumble with a laugh. You press against his muscled forearm searching for stimulation. Alfie moves his arm just enough so it’s not touching you, smirking as he returns his attention to your breasts. Your nipples are bullets, each nip, flick or squeeze travelling directly between your legs. Need drives your hand between your legs, quickly falling into a familiar rhythm.

Feeling your arm bumping against him as you play with yourself, Alfie lifts his face from your chest watching you. His hand still caressing your breasts and nipples. “That’s a fucking sight for sore eyes that is.” He says, tongue skating over his lips as he watches you. “You tell me when you’re close love, right?” he says brushing the hair from your face.

It doesn’t take long. “Alfie,” You moan feeling yourself racing towards your release.

Alfie kneels between your legs, pulling your ass up his thighs and guiding himself into you. Unintelligible words flowing from your mouth as he fills you. His hands return to your breasts twisting the nipples as he thrusts and you rub at yourself desperately. A final tweak is all it takes and you cum, screaming Alfie’s name. Alfie’s thrusts increase as he fucks you through your orgasm. Not stopping as you go limp, his hands leaving marks on your hips as he searches for his own release. Knowing what he needs you take your breasts in your own hands, kneading them and tugging at the nipples. Alfie grunts in appreciation. You cum again as he does.

Exhausted and spent you lay together, hands caressing each other until sleep takes you.

                                         —————————– 

You hiss as the rough fabric of Alfie’s shirt grates over your nipple. Still raw from last night the stimulation skating the razor-thin line between pleasure and pain. You can feel the heat growing between your legs.  

“Sweetie?” You hear Alfie padding down the hall, the soft sound of his feet meaning he’s not wearing any shoes. “Have you seen me,” You look over your shoulder as he reaches the doorway “shirt.” He finishes, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his bare chest, trousers hanging loosely on his hips. As he takes the sight of you in, he cocks his eyebrow, and a broad smile becomes visible through his beard. 

“Well, I had nothing else, you ruined my dress!” you say indignantly turning back to the tea preparations.

You hear Alfie grunt behind you, then his soft footsteps as he crosses the room to you. “Wasn’t complaining love.” He says, nuzzling your hair from your neck before placing a gentle kiss where your neck meets your shoulder. “Probably the best that shirt’s ever looked.” He comments, his hands tugging the hem up, before slipping his hands under the fabric and over the soft skin of your stomach.

You turn your head, pressing your lips to his jaw. “Well, I gotta say I prefer you without it.” You tease.

Alfie presses his teeth lightly against your neck, another smile causing you to shiver as his beard tickles the sensitive skin of your neck. Alfie’s arms wrap around you comfortingly. He breathes deeply. “But now you smell like me.” He sighs.

“I like it.” You say resting your cheek against his head.

“It’s not doing much for me, love. I can tell ya. I know what I smell like, and I much prefer your delectable scent. Think we best do something about it.”

“Yeah, like what?” You retort.

“Only thing we can do.” He says scooping you up “Wash it off.” He says striding down the hall towards the stairs.

 In the bathroom he sets you down and turns on the shower, running his hand through the stream of water testing it and adjusting it until he is happy with the temperature. Returning his attention to you, he whips the shirt over your head and guides you under the water. Before settling himself on the edge of the bath watching you.

“What are you doing Alf?” You ask.

“Watching.” He says happily, eyes travelling down your body and up again.

“Really?” you ask eyebrows raised. “Cause I’m not keen to wash the smell of you off. So if you want it gone you’re gonna have to do it yourself, right.”

“Really?” Alfie says with a shrug, standing and dropping his pants, his cock bouncing happily as he takes the few steps to the shower. “That’s the way it is. Innit. Want something done properly gotta do it yourself.” He says, hands resting on your waist as he pushes you back under the water. He follows before pulling you to him, holding you as the water cascades over you both.

You rest your forehead against his chest, your hands rubbing over his back and shoulders appreciatively. Alfie’s hand comes to your cheek, tilting your head so he can kiss you. He’s gentle at first, before using his lips to part yours and sliding his tongue between them. Your fingers grip his shoulders as you push yourself against him. His cock hot against your stomach as your bodies glide against each other.

Alfie pulls back. “Hair first.” He says guiding you out from under the water as he pours shampoo into his hand, spreading it onto your hair and working it into a lather. His strong fingers massage your scalp and rake through your hair. Your hand rises to the tiles for support. Tipping your head back, he tilts the shower head to rinse your hair. Once finished Alfie’s hands slide down your arms, as he kisses across your shoulders, his fingers entwining with yours. “God, you’re delicious.” He sighs happily before picking up the conditioner. He repeats the process, mouth finding your neck and shoulders as he washes the residue away.

Turning you run your fingers through Alfie’s beard. “Your turn.” You say.

Alfie smirks, stepping back out of the water and dropping to his knees “So you can reach.” He says. You nod and pour shampoo into your palm, smoothing it over his hair. Alfie’s hands grab your ass, kneading the flesh as he pulls you closer. Reaching behind you, he grabs the bar of soap and begins lathering your lower back and ass. You continue working his hair, massaging his scalp, your fingers working down onto his neck and shoulders. Alfie groans appreciatively against your stomach, sucking the skin. You press your hand to his shoulder to steady yourself. Alfie’s hands slide down your legs, the soap making your skin slick.

Lifting Alfie’s chin, you reach above you to direct the shower head, brushing your hands over his hair to rinse it. Water pools where his chest meets your hips. He leans back allowing the water to flow down rinsing you. You lean forward as Alfie rinses the backs of your legs and ass free of suds. Alfie’s mouth works its way from one hip to the other while you condition his hair, again massaging his scalp, neck and shoulders.

Finished with his hair, you try to guide him up. Alfie shakes his head, wiping his hand over his mouth causing a small cascade of water to fall from his beard. He pushes you back against the wall, before lifting your leg and hanging it over his shoulder. He smiles at the sight before him, before he kisses his way up your thigh. He rubs a soapy hand over you, careful not to get soap anywhere he shouldn’t. After rinsing you off, he pauses for only a moment to catch your eye, before swiping his tongue over your sex. Your fingers instantly clutch at the hair at the back of his head. Alfie chuckles against you “Clean enough to eat off.” He sniggers earning himself a clip over the ear.

Nodding contritely, he runs his tongue along your slit. You rake your fingers over his shoulder, sucking your breath between your teeth. Alfie licks again, parting you slightly, your clit is already throbbing before he even touches it. “Say you don’t do buttons Alfie and you’ll have a horrible accident.” You warn him breathlessly.

Alfie laughs “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” He says eyes dancing. You glare at him. Alfie’s thumb caresses your hip. “Don’t worry love; I’ll redeem myself. I promise.” He says plunging his tongue into you, circling your clit as he sucks it between his plump, warm lips.

“Fuck.” You gasp, eyes closing as your hips rock against Alfie’s mouth. Your eyes fly open as a finger penetrates you, your hand squeaking over the tiles. Your mind seems unable to focus on anything other than the sensations between your legs as Alfie works you slowly, finger curling. “Alfie.” You pant.

“Mm,” He hums against you.

“Fuck!” You cry again, fingers clawing at his neck and shoulders as Alfie inserts another finger into you, this time pressing the pads of his fingers firmly against your spot. You start to slide down the wall. Alfie’s free hand pinning your hip to the wall without breaking his rhythm. “Fuck!” You scream as the waves of pleasure break over you. Your cries echoing around the hard surfaces.

Alfie guides your thigh from his shoulder, body pressing against yours for support as he kisses you. The taste of yourself on his tongue sending another shudder through you. “You okay sweetie?” Alfie asks, hand skimming over your breast, the roughness of his palm causing you to shudder again. Your hands fly to his shoulders for support. Alfie pulls you back under the water the two of you holding each other as the warm water flows over you.

Recovering, you run your fingers through his beard “Better clean you up.” You offer, meeting his gaze “Soap or Shampoo?”

“Shampoo love, then conditioner or it’ll go all prickly yeah. Not nice apparently.” He says with a playful wink.

You work from his cheeks down his neck, before carefully working a lather on his chin and around his mouth to his moustache. Alfie rinses himself before you use the conditioner. He rinses again and kisses you. You soap up his chest, fingers tracing the tattoos and scars littering his skin as they are revealed to you as the suds wash away. Slipping behind him, you repeat the process on his back, kissing across his shoulders and down his spine, fingers finding and tracing each mark on his skin. You remember back when you first slept together, before the war, when only a few tattoos marked his skin, and there were considerably fewer scars. Alfie reaches behind him, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you back in front of him. You trace the scar along his jaw, watching him, wondering how it was the whole world saw him so differently to how you did. 

Alfie’s hand comes to your jaw, his thumb playing over your lips before parting them. He presses his lips to yours, taking them hungrily.

Sliding out of his grasp, you drop to your knees, soap in hand. You hold his eye while you lather his legs, reaching around him and giving his ass a little squeeze as you soap him up. Your hands roam his thighs enjoying the feel of his muscles, before gently caressing his balls and shaft. You stop, smirking as you kiss his stomach and rinse him down. Alfie groans as you cup your breasts gliding them along his length. Alfie’s hand slaps against the tiles. “Fuck sweetie; you’ll be wearing pearls if you do that again.” You repeat the process and as promised Alfie’s hips buck as he cums on your chest. “Sorry, love.” He says as he regathers himself. “Ya just too fuckin’ beautiful.”

You lean back against the tiles, so the water doesn’t wash you clean. Spreading his cum over your breasts before scooping some up on your finger and licking it off. Alfie groans again and pulls you back to him. He rubs the soap over your chest, paying careful attention to your breasts and throat. As he rinses you down, you both notice the water becoming cooler.

Alfie turns the taps off and grabs a towel, wrapping you up in one and wrapping another around his waist. He sits you on the edge of the bath and towels your hair. Finishing with your hair, he kisses your neck. “Don’t know about you, love, but I could do with a little lie-down. Whad’ya say?”

                                         —————————– 

Hours later, you rollover half asleep aware that Alfie’s presence is missing from the bed. Bleary-eyed you notice him sitting on a chair next to the dresser. Bare-chested with burgundy fabric piled in his lap, a pile of glittering buttons on in front of him and needle and thread in hand. His glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he works. A constant string of curses falling from his lips as he wrangles the fabric and buttons. A tiny giggle escapes you.

Turning towards the noise, Alfie drops his chin regarding you over the top of his glasses, “What’s so funny?” He asks dryly.

“Oh, nothing just the big tough gangster doing his needlework.” You chuckle.

“See that’s the thing innit love. No-one will ever fuckin’ believe ya. Will they?”

                                         -----------------------------

                                         -----------------------------

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[peachmused]

READ ON AO3 // SUMMARY // CHAPTER ONE / CHAPTER TWO / CHAPTER THREE

“Class is dismissed.”

Those three, fateful words crashed onto my shoulders like a ton of barbells. It looked like my face was already contorting again, because a girl seated near me was staring, obviously weirded out. Over and over, I reminded myself of who I was, how strong of a person I could be. I told myself to keep my composure, and relaxedly sorted my belongings into my bag. My face, however, was an obvious giveaway; my brows were knotted upwards, while I couldn’t help but chew on my lip. My nostrils were doing their thing, as well.

In essence, I was a ball of misery and regret, doing everything in my power not to be noticed by a certain someone. I felt some movement behind me, and slowed my breathing.

You can do this. You’re strong, exceptionally talented, and not to mention—

More movement. A yawn. Then, the sound of someone rising from his desk. On cue, I cleared my throat, blinking away my anguish. My features relaxed into a neutral state, and I calculatedly drooped my head into my bag, as if I was searching for something.

The target sauntered past me, muttering to himself about how it should be illegal to give such tiresome lectures. Once I was certain he was far from my desk, I lifted my head up. Fortunately for me, Yuma was distracted by the sight of a familiar-looking blonde. It only took seconds for me to register that he was now talking to the supposed girlfriend I’d humiliated myself in front of just yesterday.

Seriously? I groaned inwardly, This is way too small of a world…

Hastily, I ducked my head back down, pretending to be interested in anything but them. Only when I was sure the two had left did I rise once more, zipping my bag up for the day. Students were now down to a minimum, and even the teacher was packing up and leaving. In other words, I was totally safe.

Phew. That was a close one. I thought, then immediately stopped short. Why was I even hiding? Hadn’t I promised myself I would face the boy head-on?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I whispered harshly, knocking myself on the head.

“I don’t think you’re that stupid.”

Nearly yelping, I whirled around in my seat to come face-to-face with one of the most gorgeous people I had ever seen. I lowered my hand, taking the moment to appreciate this stranger’s striking blue eyes and flaxen hair. In fact, I daresay, he looked awfully similar to…

“M-Mukami Kou?” I cried, only to cover my mouth a second later. He smiled, his eyes crinkling into two, perfect crescents. However, even his refreshing looks weren’t enough to remove the frown on my forehead. To begin with, I was utterly thrown off by the appearance of none other than Japan’s hit singer, model, and dancer in the same space as me. If I’d known I would be bumping into Kou at my new school, I would have put in a little more effort in styling the nest that was my hair.

As I remained lost in his glittering eyes, he inquired, “If I give you an autograph, will you keep it a secret that I was here?”

I could only nod, swallowing as I watched him languidly hop off the desk adjacent mine and stride over to Yuma’s. He pressed a finger to his lips and shot me a wink, before whipping out a marker and doodling something onto his desk. My frown only deepened as I watched; did the two know each other somehow? Whatever their relationship was, it was certain that Yuma was not only affiliated with a girl with killer looks, but a renowned idol as well. Who was he, really?

Once Kou was finished with his secret mission, he graced me with a present, and headed on his way. As the idol left, I looked down at the autograph.

He’d misspelled my name.

My next class, Biology, unraveled rather smoothly. Since I didn’t have to worry over facing the six-foot-and-something-inch man, I could tune into class with a clear mind. Much of the period, however, was instruction and an overview of procedures, meaning that there was no real need to pay attention. Instead, I looked back over the past hours and contemplated my next move.

For one thing, I had to stop fretting and start listening to my brain instead. Sure, picturing confrontation with a gruff, hostile creature had hindered me earlier, but the next time we bumped into each other, I would have to push those feelings aside. I wasn’t just anybody; I was a girl with a bright future ahead of her, a girl with ambitions that could rival any of his intimidations.

A curl of the lips managed to sneak its way up my face.

As Mukami Kou himself said, I wasn’t that stupid.

The next period on my schedule was a much needed lunch break. I expected that the break room would far exceed my imagination, and I was correct.

It was as if Ryoutei hadn’t ever learned the word of moderation; the break room on the first floor resembled a wedding hall, with embellished, long tables of food at the back and side of the expanse, and circular tables with plush chairs spread throughout. There were floral centerpieces on each table, but it wouldn’t have been out of place to throw in some candles, shower the place with rose petals, and have waiters walking about. For a final touch, chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, adding a mountain of elegance to the space.

Though I could have stood speechless, the shrimp scampi was calling out to me, coaxing me to dig in. I obediently followed through, heaping spoonfuls on my plate.

This isn’t a school, this is definitely a palace!

Just as I thought this, a voice claimed nearly the same thing.

“This can’t be a school; this is a castle!”

I turned to find a tinier form gasping at all the food choices. The girl tied her coffee-colored hair to the side, her bangs delicately framing her face. Her expressions were so animated I couldn’t help but chuckle, being reminded of my antics earlier that day.

She blinked up at me. “Oh—sorry!” she laughed, tugging at the ends of her blazer, “I guess I’m just not used to the world of rich people.”

Immediately, I shook my head. “Trust me, I’m not either.” My words obviously took her by surprise, as her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“You’re a scholarship student, too?” she asked, her honey orbs glistening.

“Oh… No, I’m not,” I revealed, my cheeks reddening at the realization that I was standing before a possible genius. If it weren’t for my grandfather’s connections, I probably would not have enrolled; the director was close to Grandpa, and thus offered me a chance for a more reasonably priced admission. It never occurred to me that some students were actually competing for merit-based scholarships just to attend Ryoutei.

She waited for me to continue, understandably confused. I, of course, moved the topic along, asking for her name instead. The girl introduced herself as Mizushima Ran, a second-year. So, not only was she more adept than I, but younger as well. Somehow, instead of being the admired senior, I was already holding the second-year in high regards.

After introducing ourselves, we decided to head over to the nearest vacant table and plunge into conversation. Ran shared her family life briefly: she was the daughter of divorced parents, and currently living with her dad in a nearby apartment. Despite her parents’ separation, the entire family was still a lively bunch. Her mother would even visit on holidays, effortlessly embarrassing her father with stories from the past every time. Overall, I could tell that Ran was incredibly loved, through thick and thin.

We found much common ground, with her eventually prying out the fact that I was Kanna Inn’s next-in-line and subsequently “ooh”-ing and “ahh”-ing. Apparently, her brother used to work at the inn, and now that I was going to spend my days there, Ran claimed she had another excuse to visit.

Eventually, we cleared off our plates and stacked them in the appropriate place. So far, I didn’t run into a certain brunet, so I let go of the possibility of an immediate encounter. Chatting with Ran relaxed my nerves, convincing me I really was ready to move on with my life.

We parted ways just as the bell for the third period sounded. Books in hand, I hurried to my next class. There were so many similar-looking rooms and halls, it was a miracle that I was able to navigate to the correct location. I finally turned the corner that lead to Room 207, peeking down at my map ever so often as I strolled down the hall.

From the opposite end of the corridor, I spotted a large figure making its way toward me. At first I thought nothing of it, my attention solely on the whereabouts of my next class. I trod along, the sound of my Oxfords against the smooth flooring in tune with the heavy steps approaching me.

I finally peeked up from my map to find myself standing right before my literature class. My features visibly perked at the sign “Room 207”, and I reached out to touch the door handle. Simultaneously, long fingers brushed over mine. The frigid sensation made me pull back, and I tilted my head to find the source.

Sharp, electrifying eyes landed upon mine, freezing every cell in my body. With my lips parted, I stood before the towering creature, every sight and sound around me slowing. He sported the same, unkempt mane from my memories, but this time, it accentuated his tapered jaw and pointed eyebrows.

Undeterred by the glower souring his chiseled face, I titled my chin upwards. Our gazes wrestled, the hostility in his as unrelenting as the shrewdness in mine.

He dug his hands in his pockets and arched his body over mine, silently asserting dominance.

“You really didn’t listen, did you?”

The man edged closer, and it took every bit of energy not to stumble back. He shortened the distance between us until strands of his hair fell over my shoulder like a curtain. As I registered the current situation, Yuma’s lips smoothly curled into a smirk.

“Didn’t I warn you? If you ever showed up in front of me again…” he lowered his voice, an unfamiliar cruelty entering his gaze, “You’d have to pay.”

Folding my arms, I squinted up at my opponent. His face was only inches away, and though, admittedly, I was initially taken aback, the moment his mouth opened, I remembered all the reasons why he chafed me so.

“I think there’s some misunderstanding here…” I began through gritted teeth, “You’re the one who hopped back into my life. Who’s going to pay who...”

I muttered the last part to myself, rolling my eyes ever-so-slightly. At my actions, the boy’s lips twitched, his glower carrying all the contempt in the world.

“You’ve got some nerve…”

He leaned back, releasing a vexed sigh. I thought I was putting up a good fight… until I spotted him cracking his knuckles and rolling his head back. The veins in his neck bulged, and the look washing over him could only be defined as murderous. Instantaneously, my eyes enlarged twice their usual size, and I lurched for the door.

“Oi!” Yuma roared behind me, but I was already in full “escape-mode”.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I repeated, scrambling to an empty seat. Fellow students watched as I hastened to drop my belongings on the desk, right before a giant someone came bursting through the door.

In the span of milliseconds, I somehow became deeply invested in Aristotle’s work on the scientific method. I nodded to myself as the imposing figure sped toward me, highlighting a random sentence at the end of the page. Nonetheless, my facade was not enough to curb his wrath, as the man snatched the textbook in my hand with an unrivaled force.

Brandishing the book before me, Yuma clicked his tongue, then slammed his hand down on my desk. I could only return his incensed expression with a sheepish smile—one that only worsened my situation.

“You… You’re dead!”

I swallowed hard, my lips pursing as I braced for a punch.

“Students, what’s going on here?”

Just as Yuma raised his hand, a teacher—no, an angel —arrived at the scene of the crime. A huge sigh escaped my lips, but there was no time to relish the moment. I quickly pointed at the boy towering above me, and opened my mouth to rat him out.

As if reading my mind, the Grizzly shot me a venomous glare, one that was enough to shut me up. I settled on giving the excuse that we were simply “fooling around”, but every bit of me wanted to claw at his aggravating face. Although I knew that reporting him for school violence was only going to backfire, I couldn’t help but seethe over the fact that he had even the slightest bit of influence over me. Only minutes earlier, he wasn’t afraid to scratch my precious face… yet now, I was letting him get away with it?

I slumped into my chair, silently cursing him as I watched him settle into a seat.

“I hope only unpleasant things happen to you,” I spat under my breath, dusting off my textbook, “I hope you’re forever haunted by the image of me, until the day you die… No, even after you die!”

Yuma tilted his head back to bestow upon me a top-of-the-line sneer, and I felt my fingers tighten around the edges of the book I was holding. Although he did not look back at me again for the rest of class, my stomach was a raging pit of fire, fueled by the animosity I held towards him.

It was only a matter of time before we would cross paths once more, and the torment would only continue from thereon. My perfect, new life at Ryoutei was at stake; people were already whispering about what they’d just witnessed. If this went on, I could only imagine how sullied my reputation would be by the end of the semester. I had to devise a new plan—one that would quench the beast before I became its midnight snack.

[whipplefilter]

Fic: Burning Sky

This fic is for @gillg25​, who asked for fic based on this headcanon of hers, about Lightning’s crash. I didn’t want to just steal your idea, and I didn’t want to repeat stuff I myself have already written, so this starts a bit further back. ;) Hope you enjoy! The epigraph (and title) are from Bad Company’s “Burnin’ Sky.”

The sky is burnin' I believe my soul's on fire

July, 2007.

Doc frames it as a question.

It's what he does when the idea he's had is both stupid and dangerous. Maybe it's how they teach you to talk in doctor school, or lawyer school, but Lightning has a feeling it goes deeper than that.

Doc is teaching at the edge of a sport that defines itself by exceeding its edges. Racing is, more than finish lines or pole positions, the breach between tire and asphalt when you don't have the downforce--when that bump sneaks up on you; it's the keening shriek of air better measured in cc's than inches when you're loose on a turn and skim a wall. It's teaching your hunger for the edge without dooming your student to your old mistakes.

But here's the thing. Question or not, it's what Doc Hudson would do. It's what the Fabulous Hudson Hornet would do. Lightning's never once answered 'no.'

--

November, 2016.

There's a storm up in the mountains--lightning, the works. The race is on, though--if there's anything to be said about Los Angeles, it's that it can stop a storm dead in its tracks. Traffic, grid-locked; smog, rising; inversion layer, paralytic.

"They're worried about wildfires," says Danny, whose name Lightning only knows because Danny qualified a tenth of a second ahead of him, and because he replaced Bobby. Danny's talking to Chase, who replaced Brick, because Danny still has anyone to talk to, because Danny was never friends with Brick Yardley or anyone else who's gone now.

Chase doesn't even know what a wildfire properly is. That's how young these guys are.

But Los Angeles is always worried about wildfires.

Lightning just needs to focus on Storm.

--

It's always dusk under a wildfire. Orange and hazy, Cadillac range obliterated by smoke, it feels like they're on the moon. Except it's hot. Real hot. Radiator Springs shutters, all of its residents having retreated indoors; and caught up in the sepia of wildfire, it looks the way Lightning imagines it would have, if it had been allowed to disappear.

Red's already burnt a ring of brush all around town, doused the roads and all the tractor tracks he could find. They'll probably be all right, though with fires this size it's hard to tell. It's all scrub brush out here, so they can't fuel the truly large blazes like they get up north, but if there's something this desert has in spades, it's wind. You get wind and fire on a plain together, and boy, they can dance.

Red waits, wordlessly anxious, and hopes for the best.

According to Sheriff, Red thinks the fire is far enough away, at least for now. Doesn't feel that way, though. If Lightning closed his eyes, he'd believe it were right in front of him. It's gotta be 140 degrees. It's been 140 degrees for days. It feels like it's been the last lap of a summer 500, track so slick it's almost liquid, for a full-on week.

Doc asks, "Hey, Rookie, you wanna try something?"

And so, with Red in tow, they head to Willy's Butte.

--

Los Angeles at night is a race you need to lead in order to win. Problem is, it's hard enough to hold P6 against these guys, much less overtake. Lightning stays out of the pits as long as he can to build as many hundredths of seconds as he can between him and the car behind him, snatches a few off Danny's lead on him, and prays there aren't any early yellows.

In the distance, there is thunder.

--

A couple slow laps around the Butte, and it's hot and unpleasant, but nothing awful. Lightning wasn't made for low speeds, so they always feel a little coarse. But it doesn't get better. The air's flabby, just doesn't have the density, doesn't have the oxygen, and Lightning's engine can't find its power. It's hard to breathe.

When the wind blows in, so does the ash. It coats the track like snow and it coats Doc like a fine white dust and Lightning can't see much of anything at all, just dirt and ash and the occasional snatch of the plummeting cliffside he knows is out there. He tries to find what speed he can. He feels lightheaded.

You know, when I was a rookie on the force, Sheriff told him once. He says, Any time I bulls-eyed, I couldn't ever actually see the target. When my vision went pure white I'd pull the trigger and that'd be my perfect shot. It was always the ones I couldn't ever see.

Not gonna lie, Sherif. As a private citizen living in your town, that's a little scary to me, Lightning replies.

They weren't Hail Marys, boy, Sheriff huffs. That was instinct. Experience taking over. You just don't know it 'til you feel it a coupla times.

"Watch your temperature," Doc shouts over Lightning's engine. "What you're feeling--usually you only ever get that at the tail-end of an actual race. Everyone knows you got talent, rookie, but that's only gonna get you so far when you're up against a field who's got 300, 500 races on you."

It's hard to train race circumstances as fleeting as this one--those last five minutes where the pressure's on and one poor experimental decision can cost you. But under that wildfire, it's those last five minutes forever. They train until Lightning's engine is spent and there's so much dirt and ash clogging his air filter he can't speak without hacking. He feels like he's run a thousand races.

--

Los Angeles at night. You lead, you win.

Lightning screams out of pit road just ahead of Storm. It took 450 laps to make this play. Now he just needs to hold on.

It’s honestly breathtaking how quick Storm shuts that door.

--

Sally's pretty irate at Doc when she finds out about their wildfire training, which is probably where that doctor-lawyer school thing comes in. She's irate even after Lightning coughs his way through some staccato, single-syllable version of "No, I wanted to, it's fine, I feel fine, this was actually really helpful."

"Does Spare the Air Day mean nothing to you?" she asks Doc tersely.

In truth, the phrase means less than nothing to Lightning, because he lied, he does not feel fine, and his vision's going white and he suspects it has less to do with instinct and experience than it does with oxygen deprivation, and instead of heading to the shop with Doc he groggily wanders to his cone and refuses to be roused because he'd rather be miserable and asleep at home than miserable and awake in the clinic. That can wait 'til morning. End of discussion.

It's a mistake, and the most miserable night of his life because he cannot sleep because his body keeps jostling him awake to remind him that he cannot breathe, but maybe that's a learning experience, too. Sally says I told you so.

But whatever Sally's chagrin at their bold rejection of safe common sense, he'd never felt endangered. Besides, Doc was there. Red had been there. They'd only been training the edge, not derailing from it.

They talk about this on the radio a lot, as Lightning grows his career. How good he is at finishing, at clawing to first in the last laps of a race, out of the broiling pan straight into the cool shadow of that checkered flag.

And when the Cup introduces restrictor plate races, he's skilled at that, too. He adapts well to their breathless feeling, the way they steal power that you know you have--should have. Lightning owes a lot to that wildfire.

When asked about his training, Lightning simply replies, "Doc," even though Doc's been gone for four years and the last time ash rained down on Radiator Springs was even longer ago. His answer will always be Doc.

--

Lightning remembers almost nothing from the second that back tire goes out. He thinks remembers scrambling to keep hold of the track, but being at the mercy of the elements more than anything else. Correction: His elements. This is not a dust storm, it is not a tornado. It's not even the fire, raging in the mountains under lightning far above. This is the force of himself, and at 200 miles an hour, it plows him head-first into the wall.

They say he went airborne. They say he rolled--eight times, maybe more. Straight down the track, like a cue ball. Would've been gentler in the apron. It's a miracle he didn't injure anyone else.

He doesn't remember any of that, though he swears he can remember the pain.

His nurse swears he doesn't. "Trust me, honey. What you're feeling is the pain you're in right now," she says. She sounds like she might've already had this conversation with him a couple dozen times.

He might've had an out-of-body experience. He could see what was left of himself, splayed out on the track.

"They showed it on the screens," says Sally, who's there sometimes and not, which is confusing, especially when she tells him, "No, it's Friday," except it's Saturday, because it's race night, because the ambulance was only a moment ago, and normalcy was just one tire longer ago than that.

"Yeah, they showed that on the screens," she says, in response to whatever it was he just said. "Until they cut the visual, because they thought that maybe you--"

"It's Tuesday," says Sally. "You should get some sleep."

--

The ER is filled with ashy, fire-damaged cars who've just lost their homes to the blaze that razed the hills--the blaze which was, as it turns out, not so far away after all. The news is filled with the lightning storm that started it all, and doomed them. It's filled with news of Lightning, burning too. It's a testament to how this city works that they still spare him a private room.

The number of displaced cars climbs. The fire goes uncontained. There are two confirmed deaths.

--

Lightning dreams racing more than he dreams anything else. No surprises there. He dreams the dreams where you're supposed to run your heart out, but you can't. You can't make your wheels turn faster, can't get your engine to pump air through its cylinders, can't get the life inside you spin the way you know it needs to. That's how it always happens, in dreams.

But when he wakes, alone, in the hospital, he doesn't see the difference. He smells like smoke.

"They shouldn't let you watch that," says Sally, during visiting hours the next morning. It's a Wednesday. She shuts the news off mid-cycle. (The cycle goes McQueen, wildfire, McQueen wildfire, McQueen, community interest story about cats, McQueen, wildfire…)

When Lightning reminds her that he is extremely concussed and probably won't remember it anyway, she doesn't think it's funny. She says, "I don't care. You don't need to see that."

Whether he remembers it for five minutes or five years, he doesn't need to see that. And when you watch yourself fly through the air, the screen has a way of making five seconds into five minutes, five minutes into eternity. (Remember that wildfire? With Doc watching? Five hundred last-five-minutes. A lifetime of experience.)

When Sally is gone, the TV springs to life again. It asks, "Will this be McQueen's last?"

They frame it like a question. They don't mean it like one.

--

Lightning wants to bounce back. That's sort of his style. But it doesn't come naturally this time, so maybe it's not. And there are so many maybes clogging his mind they can't possibly be helping the concussion. Which is making him feel like garbage, by the way.

Maybe they were right, putting Doc out to pasture after '54. Maybe Rusty and Dusty are wrong, for not following suit; they're not exactly business moguls. They're constantly giving away free maintenance, free bottles of bumper oil. Heaven knows how they kept on top of all those sponsor deals. But who knows? Maybe Lightning doesn't have sponsors anymore. Harv has not exactly been in contact. Maybe it was wrong to end Doc's career, but not his. He's not the Fabulous Hudson Hornet, after all; he's just Lightning McQueen. And maybe experience is nothing against what a Next-Gen's got under the hood, white-hot or not.

Maybe it'd be a mistake to come back, because it was already a mistake to have stayed.

"Well, does it feel like you made a mistake?" Sally asks, having withstood this particular litany of maybes multiple times already. It's the first time she hasn't let him get away with his self-pity, so either he's looking better or she's finally annoyed.

"It feels like I'm in pain," Lightning mutters, distracted. He's trying to figure out if she's annoyed. Present circumstances make it hard to think in anything but worst-case scenarios.

"I know you are, Stickers. But that's not what I asked," says Sally, gently. She kisses him. Not annoyed, then.

Maybe.

--

It wasn't a mistake. He ran that race because he deserved to be there. And he ran it hard, because there's no other way to race. You leave your rubber on the road and your smoke in the air and if you have to eat your own glass, then you do it. If you gotta hold yourself together with tape, you do it. And if you hit a wall and you don't remember anything, anything but this moment right now, then you get right back out there and you keep running. Even under wildfire. Just because it feels like hell doesn't mean you're wrong.

--

They're rebuilding in the LA hills, now that the fire's choked itself out. The faces of the displaced Angelenos on TV are masks of grim determination. It's not a resilience story, or community interest story (that one is about harbor seals this time); it's a 'the fire took everything' story.

"Our home is gone," one of the cars points out. "And it feels like trash; and it ain't gonna stop feeling like that. But man, I don't gotta take it lying down! Of course we're gonna rebuild. And of course it's gonna be on that same hill! It's my hill! I know I can't say this on TV but--eff that fire, you know what I mean?"

--

Lightning knows what he means.

--

Four months later, that car is back up on his blackened hill, living large in a mail-order double wide with an ostentatiously lavish fountain sitting in his front yard. It's pearl white against black char, peppered with the green of the tender new growth that made it back with the winter rains. The fountain cost four times as much as his house and he doesn't regret a single dang thing.

It has a setting where you can make water shoot up into the air like fireworks, which he uses often. So he does that, and goes back inside. He flips his TV to the Daytona 500.

He looks for the 95.

[kacchansass]

une balle un mort - prologue

Midoriya Izuku was raised by the Yuuei Institute to be the perfect assassin: unfeeling and obeying. Brainwashed from age 4, he bent to every whim and desire his senseis wished, until the facade placed on him began to crack and shatter. Now, 20 years later, he's on a mission to destroy the people that destroyed him, so nobody ever has to suffer at their hands again--but doing so requires the help of a childhood friend turned CIA rival.

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku/Bakugou Katsuki

Rating: M

Warnings: Minor Character Death (!!), Assassination, Guns

based off of this post made by @ukiinas!

Read on AO3

High priority target, security on high alert. Four on the ground, three on the target rooftop, two on the neighbouring ones.

 Izuku watches as the crowd gathered in the plaza a few buildings over grows restless at having to wait so long for their Symbol of Peace to take the stand. He watches the men clad in black as they pace the top of the buildings closest to where the event was taking place.

  Ground security is highly trained, but they shouldn't be a problem. Target will be dead before they arrive. Roof security is significantly weaker. Just regular event security guards and not trained professionals. Too easy.

 Izuku returns back inside the building and enters the hideout room his partner was set up in. Kyouka keeps her eyes set on the CCTV monitors throughout the area, as well as the hidden cameras set up long before the event. She makes no acknowledgement of his arrival, silently handing him the ammo pack he'd left on the table next to her.

 "Don't disable the security channels until I give the go ahead."

 "I know what I'm doing, Deku. Be careful this time. There's no backup here that can save you if you get into trouble." Kyouka warns, eyes flitting to him briefly before returning to the screens.

 Izuku nods, loading up the cartridge into the rifle and equipping all the gear he'd brought along without leaving a single piece behind. If everything went according to plan, or even if it didn't , they'll need to make a quick escape so as not to get caught. He gives Kyouka a quick farewell as he leaves, taking in a deep breath before climbing out onto the fire escape. He has five minutes to make it past the four buildings separating him and his prime location. Izuku closes the distance with a minute to spare and lies in wait amongst the shadows of the alleyway for his cue. The crowd gathered in the plaza begins an uproar as a figure makes their appearance on stage.

 "Now, Kyouka."

 He shoots his grappling hook onto the edge of the building, steeling himself for what's about to come next. The guards thankfully don't notice his silent arrival, though a small part of him wishes they did. It's been a long time since something interesting happened on the job.

 Izuku slinks behind the door to the roof, easily catching a passing guard and stifling his cries for help. He knocks the man out cold with an apology, waiting for the next one.

 "Did you hear that?" The larger of the guards asks.

 "Hear what? I can't hear a damn thing over the ruckus below." The smaller one answers with a scoff.

 The larger man grunts in suspicion, making his way over to where Izuku is hiding. As soon as he's close enough, Izuku comes out with a swift swing from his right hand to knock the man off his feet.

 "Sorry about this." He says, averting his eyes as he bashes the butt of his rifle against the man's head. He needs to be sure his work won't be interrupted anytime soon, and this was the one of the three that posed the biggest threat to his mission.

 The last security guard turns and spies Izuku, swiftly drawing his pistol. "You're not supposed to be here."

 Izuku chuckles under his breath at how hard the man is trying to keep his calm composure. Must be a rookie.

 "Come out where I can see you." The man demands, voice betraying his words as they crack.

 Izuku tosses a metal can to the opposite side of the roof to divert the guard's attention. He slips out of his hiding spot and makes a quick run for the man, easily kicking the gun from his trembling hand.

 "You're gonna want to put some ice on this." Izuku says apologetically and hits the man hard enough to hear his nose crack. He drags the man over to join the other two, binding them together with his capture tape and taping their mouths shut. Consider it insurance on his part.

    Katsuki hadn’t planned on working tonight. All he wanted to do was enjoy a nice night out and watch All Might speak about fighting against the injustice in the world. Not that he particularly cared about his message or anything, but the guy had charisma and was quite the sight to watch.

 All Might had just taken the stand when he noticed one of the stage guards shift minutely behind the Symbol of Peace and glance at the rooftops. Katsuki sucks in an annoyed breath, doing a quick once over towards the roof the bodyguard had looked at. His eyebrows knit together in suspicion. If he recalled the details about this security job that Kirishima was supposed to be working ground security on, there were supposed to be five rooftop guards on-alert for snipers.

 Wait. On guard for snipers . There were plenty of amateur snipers that had attempted to take down All Might before, sure, but they were easily subdued before they’d even gotten to a good spot. If this was the guy he thought it was, there’s no way the average security bozos up top would be able to stop him.

 Katsuki grits his teeth in annoyance as he pushes his way through the crowd and towards the guard-less building to start scaling the side of it.

    Izuku shoots his grappling hook into the brick of the chimney, pulling once on it to check it was tight before wrapping it around his leg. He takes a steadying breath in before jumping off the edge, soundlessly stopping his descent so he could get in position. He flicks his visor on, keeping tabs on the six cameras that adorn both sides of his vision. Mei was a genius inventor all around, but none of her inventions ever compared to this headpiece, in his opinion.

 Izuku zooms in on his scope, clicking one of the back buttons on his visor to activate the recon nodes set-up around the event so he could get an infrared view of the scene. He hovers his crosshair over All Might’s head, slowly moving his finger towards the trigger.

  Deep breath. In, out. Keep your hand steady, don't take your eyes off the target even for a second.

 “Well if it isn’t Deku . I haven’t seen you in a few months, shit for brains.” A rough voice calls out from the window beside him. A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

 Bakugou Katsuki. Izuku hasn’t seen him since his last big target hit was some political hot shot. He’d barely gotten away from the hot head’s grasp thanks to his partner, Tokoyami, being there and subduing him long enough for him to escape and get the shot off on their target. Katsuki was a wild card, a well-trained fighter that was molded into the monster he is today by a twisted sense of wanting to be the best, intense training, and a partnership with the American CIA. Katsuki has always made Izuku’s life a living hell, always one-upping him and thwarting all his missions in U.S. soil up until a few years ago when Izuku finally finished his analysis on the other.

 Katsuki showing up was unexpected, but very much so welcome. It would appear he’d be getting the excitement he’d been looking for after all.

 Izuku hits the release on his grappling hook, swinging into the window and crashing through it. Unlike his chaser, he’d studied the floor plan of this building meticulously. The window Katsuki stood in was for a small hotel room, while the one he’d crashed through was one that had a small waiting area just off the entrance to the stair case. Katsuki easily has twice his speed, and Katsuki knows it. He needs to act fast lest he get caught.

 Izuku shoots his grappling hook onto the banister of the top floor and pulls up, setting his gun to autofire as he sets off with a kick on his way up. Katsuki manages to dodge the flurry of bullets as he chases him up the stairs, which Izuku was expecting. It’s not like he was particularly aiming at the other after all. He doesn’t want to kill anyone that doesn’t need to be killed.

 “You’re not fucking getting away from me that easily!” Katsuki growls behind him, footsteps thundering through the hall.

 He makes his break for the window, opened beforehand in-case he’d had to make an escape such as this, and makes a leap into the air. His grappling hook sails through the night sky and pulls him up to the neighbouring roof. Izuku spares no glance backwards as he knocks out a stunned guard with the force of his jump, using his foot to push the man’s head onto the ground to keep him knocked out as he lands. He makes a leap to the next roof, sweeping the last security guard’s feet out from under him. The man hits his head on the edge of a metal barrel on his descent down, much to his luck, so he doesn’t spare another second on them as he sends a few shots behind him at Katsuki to try and buy himself some more time.

 The comm of his headpiece crackles in his ear as Kyouka’s voice cuts through clear as day. “Katsuki had a private channel with one of the stage guards. They’re aware of your presence on the roof and are escorting the target back to the car. You have a three minute window.”

 Izuku growls as he jumps to the next roof, placing a small canister of sleeping gas on one of the boxes he passes by and leaps to the next one. He needs a plan and fast.

 Laughter rings out behind him as the glass of his canister shatters, dispersing the gas into the air behind him. He knew Katsuki wasn’t stupid enough to blindly chase him without watching his surroundings, but he needed time to think. He just needed a few more--

 “Are you underestimating me? I guess I’ll just have to beat another lesson into your scrawny ass.” Katsuki yells.

 Izuku glances very briefly at the camera on the right of his visor to watch for Katsuki’s wind up of a grenade toss. Knowing him it should be... now .

 Izuku turns around in an instant, crosshair already trained on the small projectile and firing a perfect shot into it, setting the grenade off and sending both of them into the air. The blowback was stronger than he was expecting, but all is not lost.

 He’s hit mid-air shots before, is actually quite renowned for them, but isn’t sure he can make this one. All the others required exact timing and precision, heavily pre-meditated beforehand. He only has this one shot here and now otherwise this hit is a bust, so he’s out of options.

 The target’s head lies directly behind his chaser. Izuku takes in a deep breath and aims directly at Katsuki's heart. He has no intention of pulling the trigger on him however, and, as expected, Katsuki curls inwards to dodge the bullet. As the shot sails through the air, Izuku pulls his gun lower to brace himself for the impact of landing, followed very closely by Katsuki who lands with a growl.

 He watches as Katsuki does a quick pat down to check for blood and scrapes. The man laughs maniacally at him when he doesn't find any bullet wounds. "You fucking missed."

 Izuku turns his back to the other, prepping his grappling hook for his departure. In the distance, he can hear the terrified and panicked screams of the crowd as their Symbol of Peace lays dead on the ground just mere inches from the door to his car, bullet passed cleanly through his forehead.

 "No, I didn't."

    Let’s play cops and robbers! You can be the robber, and I’ll be the cop!

  Why are you always the cop, Kacchan? I don’t mind being the robber, but I just wanna know.

  Because I’m going to be a hero! Someone who saves people! So I gotta get practice in now so I can be the best at what I do when I’m all grown up.

  You can practice with me all the time then! I’ll be the criminal for you to track down!

  You’ll never beat me though, because the good guys always win in the end, and I’m the good guy.

 Izuku shakes his head as the memory replays over and over in his mind as he disassembles his rifle to clean. Every time he ran into Katsuki, some sort of memory from when he was four, before all the brainwashing began, filters through his mind. Times when he was only being trained physically, when he could run free and feel the sun on his skin. He shivers at the memory, placing a hand on his cold and pale skin as if he could still feel the warmth of those days.

  Stop looking out the window, Midoriya, and focus. You want to be the best, don’t you?

  I want to see my friends.

  You don’t have friends, Midoriya. They’re just using you so they can get to us. Don’t trust them.

  But Kaccha--

  No, Midoriya. You’re not going to see this “Kacchan” again. Do you understand?

  Yes sir.

  You’re a soldier now, and your duty is here.

  Yes sir.

 Katsuki used to be his best friend. Yuuei ripped that away from him, and as more time passes it becomes more and more clear that he may never get to have Katsuki as a friend again. Not since Katsuki got picked up by the CIA due to his ties with Deku . He tries to cling onto hope that one day they might become close once again, perhaps he’s even been a little sloppy during his last missions to give the other breadcrumbs on where to find him so they can talk, but what little hope he has diminishes day by day.

  Are you ready for your first mission, Deku?

  Yes sir.

  Your first target is the someone the CIA has been grooming to work for them. He’s got a lot of talent but is too much of a wild card for us to take him in. We can’t have someone so strong working against us, so he needs to be taken out. Can you do that for us?

  Yes sir.

  That’s our good boy. Go make us proud.

  Yes sir.

 Izuku sets aside the main body of the gun to pick up the sniping barrel, wiping it down inside and out mindlessly.

 “Funds have been transferred. Shigaraki thanks you for your assistance.” Momo remarks as she enters the room, reading glasses slipping down her nose as she stares at the tablet in front of her.

 Izuku makes a grunt of acknowledgement. “Anything else of note?”

 “We got a hit on the company you asked us to monitor. The head of the corporation is looking for a new secretary. Interviews start in two weeks from today.”

 He pauses his ministrations and sets the gun down on the table before him, turning to stare out the window and watch as the cars pass by in a blur. “Get Uraraka on the line and tell her she has to be ready to head out for pick-up by tomorrow. The sooner we can bring him in, the better.”

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Romeo and Juliet Evaluation

Shakespeare and Commedia Dell’Arte are two very different styles but ones that do share some similarities. Commedia Dell’Arte is all comedy whereas Shakespeare did both comedy and tragedy.

Commedia Dell’Arte is very over-the-top with gestures, voice and emotions. Commedia Dell’Arte made use of the seven levels of tension. And in those levels there were levels of how intense the emotion was. In Commedia the intensity of these emotions has to be very high for every emotion, there are no small emotions or gestures in Commedia Dell’Arte. The original Commedia troupes would have done shows mostly around improvisation. They had rehearsed lazzis where a certain thing would happen or a certain thing that a character would do such as the master and servant chair lazzi where the master is commanding their servant to find the perfect spot for their chair outdoors. The troupes would go on stage and be told what the story is and have to improvise it on the spot. Servants never do their jobs right either because they are stupid, don’t understand or just can’t be bothered to do it in the first place. Emotions of these servants can change very quickly which is very demanding on the actor as they have to be able to switch between emotions while constantly keeping a high amount of energy all the way through. If anybody on stage wasn’t giving enough energy then it makes the performance look unprofessional and boring which means the audience loses interest. Mime was also sometimes mixed in with Commedia with either no speech or very little speech or just simple noises. Commedia focussed more on the physical aspects of the body rather than the face; this is why every actor would wear a mask or have face paint. Their facial expressions were set in stone based on their character’s mask. Before the actor puts on the mask they have to pull the expression on the mask and keep it even when the mask is on. Pulling the same facial expression allows you to get into their character and holding this facial expression helps to hold the character. Because the masks covered the faces the facial expressions underneath the mask were mostly hidden so the actor has to focus on what their body is doing not what their face is doing.

Melodrama takes a lot from Commedia Dell’Arte such as the over-the-top gestures and body language as well as the difference in class, servant and master. Melodrama adds back in the facial expressions and so the actors do not wear masks (unless it is part of their character). Melodrama still focuses on the physical movements but with the addition of facial expressions. Both their faces and gestures had to be over-the-top. Character voices were also exaggerated and sometimes stereotypical which is something that Melodrama has in common with Commedia Dell’Arte; Commedia Dell’Arte was a type of comedy that would use politics and stereotypes as a basis for its comedy. For example, in Melodrama the villain would usually sound very evil and have an evil laugh that they would always do. Each character would have their own thing they would do to define them as that character. Commedia Dell’Arte also made use of this.

Shakespeare takes the big gestures from Melodrama and Commedia Dell’Arte because the audience had to understand the play and this was done through gestures more than the words they were saying, although the words are still important. Shakespeare would relate more closely to Melodrama because the gestures were not quite as big as Commedia Dell’Arte ones because Commedia was all about comedy whereas Shakespeare’s play were more serious.

In Romeo and Juliet, we all generally worked well as a team. There were times where we all needed to be more professional but times where we all worked very well as a team. There were people in the group that hadn’t learned their lines and this slowed down the overall process and left us with less time to go through the piece and polish things off. But in the end, we did all work together as a group and solve all the problems with the performance including learning the lines and it meant that the performance turned out pretty good in the end. Whenever I could, I asked if anybody else needed help with things such as setting up the staging, helping learn lines or going through blocking. I was always obliged to help. Personally, I stayed pretty well concentrated and focussed in rehearsals and there were only some times where I lost focus but when it came to me needing to focus to do a scene I always got back on track and stayed focussed throughout the whole blocking process. When it came to auditioning for the role I prepared a short piece from Act 2, Scene 2 which is the famous balcony scene between Romeo and Juliet. I asked another actor who was auditioning if they wanted to do a duologue, which the director allows, and they said they wanted to. So we helped each other with learning the lines and preparing for the audition. I did struggle with the lines and didn’t spend enough time going over them which meant I was nervous in the audition which caused me to forget my lines because I wasn’t confident enough with them; that let my audition down.

If I had more time I would work more on using more gestures and going through every line and finding a gesture that I could do that would help to get what I’m saying across to the audience. As a group, we would all spend more time rehearsing and polishing scenes off so that we would be more confident with all of our lines and scenes and cleaning up some areas of weakness such as the ball scene. In that scene we had many issues such as not being in time and actors not projecting enough over the ball music. The last thing I would spend more time working on is the emotion in my voice. I would spend more time getting into character and the feelings that my character would be feeling and then using that emotion to go through my monologues. I did do some of this but if I had more time I would spend even more time doing it and that would make my character more believable. In the next project I will push myself and make my performance more interesting by using more emotion memory and gestures. Using both of these things are very good ways to make my individual performance much better and entertaining. I will also push myself to try new things such as singing.

The target audience for our play was everybody who was interested in Shakespeare, from people at school who are starting to learn about it up to adults who may or may not have seen a Shakespeare play before. There was no explicit content or gore so this play would suit a wide range of people. Our audience did enjoy the performance overall. There were just little problems that needed working on such as entering at the right time, remembering cues and being confident with lines. Other than that, the blocking and stage combat were very interesting and the venue added to the overall immersion of the piece.

Strengths:

Projection – I found my projection was quite good and the audience could easily hear me over the noises such as birds and the wind.

Lines – I was good at remembering my lines and at one moment where I forgot what line came next I remembered a couple lines ahead and carried on from there which still worked and got the important information across to the audience.

Emphasis – I emphasised certain important words so that the audience think about those words more. For example, I exaggerate the word ‘deep’ in the line ‘adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs’. It stresses just how affected and sad Romeo is.

Tension – I showed clear tension during my fight scene and it was very clear that I hated Lord Capulet and that I was very angry and wanted to kill him. I felt the tension in my hands and with the adrenaline we both used a lot of energy for the stage combat.

Etiquette – With Lady Montague we showed clear etiquette. She had her hand on my hand and I always led and was in control. During those times the men were in control and always led.

Status & Posture – I clearly showed my status through my posture and body language. It was very clear to the audience, based on their feedback, that I was very upper-class and full of myself and in control. I barely ever looked at Lady Montague and constantly had my back straight, chest pushed out and chin up. It was clear I was important and the leader of the family.

Weaknesses:

Emotion – My emotions were clear but I felt they needed to be much stronger especially at the end. I felt I needed to show much more sadness in my last scene because my character finds out so much bad news: Lady Montague dead, Romeo dead and that Romeo married Juliet. For example, I could have tried to cry or kiss Romeo’s forehead. During the time it takes to walk onto stage I could used more emotion memory to get into the feelings my character would have felt and shown this emotion through my voice and body.

Rhythm & pace – I felt that sometimes I spoke a little too fast for the audience to try and make sense of what I’m saying. I think I needed to slow down a bit to allow time for the audience to take in the important parts of what I’m saying before I say the next bit.

Iambic pentameter – I could have tried to make use of iambic pentameter rather than only emphasising certain words to see if it would have worked better.

Gestures – I could have used more over-the-top gestures and thought about one or two gestures to go with each line I’m saying to help the audience to understand what I’m saying. I’m giving the audience important elements of the plot so it’s important they understand.